


Anamorphosis

by avocadomoon



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Secret marriage becoming public knowledge turns out to be for the best, Space Politics, War marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 01:10:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20024074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avocadomoon/pseuds/avocadomoon
Summary: noun, plural an·a·mor·pho·ses  [an-uh-mawr-fuh-seez, -mawr-foh-seez] .A distorted or monstrous projection or representation of an image on a plane or curved surface, which, when viewed from a certain point, or as reflected from a curved mirror or through a polyhedron, appears regular and in proportion; a deformation of an image.





	Anamorphosis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TexasDreamer01](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TexasDreamer01/gifts).



I.

Undoubtedly the palace was beautiful; seeing it up close, Obi-Wan was reminded of the Jedi temple on Tython - large, cavernous rooms, with big open windows and ceilings that seemed to invite the world outside in. Each section of the palace has its own garden, and in the hallways and central meeting rooms, the floors faded away into open dirt for living plants and trees. In the room Obi-Wan was given, there is a living tree at the base of the bed with blue flowers blooming from its branches. Sabé had informed him that all the guest rooms were similar.

"A flower native to Naboo. We call them leias," Padmé said, reaching up to brush one of the blooms gently with two fingers. "One of my favorites. I hope you don't object to sleeping beneath them, Master Jedi."

"Not at all," Obi-Wan said. Keeping one anchoring hand on the bottommost post of the bed, Obi-Wan felt as if he might collapse right there - from exhaustion, or the seductive scent of the flowers, it was hard to tell. "In fact, I'd daresay this is one of the loveliest rooms I'll ever have the pleasure of sleeping in, my lady."

Padmé wrinkled her nose. "Don't call me that. I have a name."

"Ah, but is it your real one?"

She laughed. "Yes!" Sliding her hands back beneath the folds of her dress, she turned on one heel, looking suddenly much more like the handmaiden he'd met than the Queen he'd bowed to. "Padmé Naberrie _is_ my name, the one I was born with. 'Amidala' is my regnant name - given to me upon election." Her nose wrinkled again. "Chosen by the governing council of Naboo."

"So if you'd introduced yourself to me first as Queen Amidala," Obi-Wan said, feeling the words pulled from him almost against his will, "then _that_ would have been more of a lie, is what you're saying."

"Something like that," Padmé said softly. The moment turned somber in the following beat of silence, during which Obi-Wan could hear the remnants of the crowds down on the street. The revelry had continued throughout the day and well into the night, and now, on the eve of the second day, Obi-Wan found himself understanding why Naboo had such a tremulous reputation in the Galactic Senate. No wonder nobody took her seriously - dressed in the ostentatious dresses of her station, working against her planet's flighty reputation. Obi-Wan might not be a politician, but he knew how they worked. "I'm glad I could find the time to come see you before you left tomorrow morning. My advisors were trying valiantly to keep me busy enough that it wouldn't happen."

"I'm sure they were," Obi-Wan said wryly. Smiling, he held out his arm for her. "Show me the balcony. I was trying to find your elusive moon last night, but I didn't have much luck."

Padmé fit her arm into the crook of his elbow easily, resting her weight against his side so naturally as if she'd always been there. A dangerous feeling, to be sure. But Obi-Wan had already decided he would feel guilty tomorrow. "It's not _my_ moon, Obi-Wan. It's my sister's moon."

"'Sola' means 'sun,' does it not? Seems a strange gift for a young girl named after a star."

"Yes, well, 'Padmé' means 'a jewel inside a flower,' and you didn't see my parents giving me rubies every year on my lifeday," Padmé replied. Her smile glinted as she led him down the balcony steps, the wind rushing up to meet them. The air carried the scents of the festival with it - spiced meat and open fires, a hint of helium from the exhaust from the speeders the guards used to patrol the borders of the city, still mindful of any drones that might have been isolated from the main server. Their fears weren't unjustified - a few hours before, a few were discovered in the southern sector of the city, wreaking havoc inside of a small air hangar. "What does 'Obi-Wan' mean?"

"I have no idea," Obi-Wan said truthfully. "You'd have to ask my parents."

"And where are they?" she asked, with an air of determination, as if she was about to march right out into the galaxy and hunt them down. 

"Don't know that either," Obi-Wan told her. "I was an orphan. The Jedi found me in a home for abandoned children on a terrestrial system in the Mid-Rim."

"Hm," Padmé said, nodding a little. She didn't say anything more, for which Obi-Wan was thankful. Still, he grinned at her, charmed despite himself at the way she gobbled up information for its own sake, taking it as if it'd been hers all along. "There. You see, right behind that cluster of four stars? That's Sola's moon."

Obi-Wan squinted. "Looks like a star to me."

"It's very far away," Padmé teased. "Many things in space are, you know."

"Fascinating," Obi-Wan said, "I was wondering why it took us so long to get here."

Padmé visibly bit back a laugh, shaking her head at him. "One day Sola and I are going to visit it," she tells him. "We're going to have a picnic. Now, there's no atmosphere, of course, which will make it somewhat tricky - "

"You can bring some atmosphere with you," Obi-Wan said. "Just scoop it up in a suitcase. Easy."

"Exactly," Padmé said with a laugh. "That was our exact plan! Of course, we were about seven years old when we made it, but I think it could still work."

"If anyone could, it would be you, I'm sure," Obi-Wan said. "I'd like to meet your father some day, I think. This man who gave his daughter a moon."

"One of Naboo's foremost astroscientists," Padmé said proudly. "And he gave it to her only in name. But 'the planet my father discovered and named Sola-248xb' sounds much less impressive than 'my sister's moon,' so I usually don't mention that part."

"Still impressive," Obi-Wan said. "What did he name after you?"

"An asteroid."

Obi-Wan nodded. "Fitting."

"How so?" Padmé asked, laughing again. 

"Here and then gone again," Obi-Wan said, and feeling brave, reached out to smooth the collar of her dress back into place, blown askew by the wind. "Brilliant while in sight, and leaving a long impression after it's gone."

Padmé swallowed, and Obi-Wan found himself watching the delicate movement of her throat despite himself. " _You_ are the one leaving, Master Jedi. I'm staying right here."

"A matter of perspective, I guess," Obi-Wan said, forcing himself to pull away. The tension broke in the space between them like a bridge collapsing under its own weight, the wind sweeping back in to blow Padmé's collar right back to where it was before. As if Obi-Wan had never touched her at all. "Anakin's mother arrived today."

"Oh?" Padmé seemed to be grateful for the change of subject, leaning heavily against the balcony's ledge and peering out into the darkness. "He must be happy. The Council has not changed its mind, I assume?"

"No," Obi-Wan said wryly. "I didn't really expect them to."

"Still, it was kind of you to try."

"I really only did it for Qui Gon's sake," Obi-Wan confessed. "I actually agree with them."

"How can a nine-year-old boy be too old to be trained for anything?" Padmé asked incredulously. 

"It's not just his age." Not wanting to argue on their last night, Obi-Wan shook his head. "I daresay he'll have a much better life as Chancellor Palpatine's ward. The Jedi's path is not easy to follow. He's had enough burdens on his young shoulders as it is."

"You follow it," Padmé shot back. "I suppose you had no choice though, being so young when you were taken."

"You make it sound as if they stole me out of my crib!" Obi-Wan laughed a little at the thought. "It's not as austere as all that, Padmé. I wasn't forced into anything. I worked hard for this."

"Of course," Padmé deferred, "but you were very young when you started your training, you have to admit. Is a choice really a choice, when it is presented as the only option?"

"No. But it was not my only option," Obi-Wan said, still amused. "They don't lock the doors at night, you know. They teach you trades and math and business, give you opportunities to work outside the Temple, learn things that might take you away from the Jedi. And to become a Knight is only one way to serve. We have doctors and teachers and artists, gardeners and mechanics, pilots and tradesmen…" he trailed off, thinking of the hustle and bustle of Scarif, the loud, chaotic marketplace inside the Ledeve Temple, the insular Jedi fishing communities of Ahch-To. Thousands of Jedi in the galaxy, and only a very small number of them Knights. "Just like any other culture."

"And Ani would not be welcome in one of those other roles?" Padmé asked. 

"Certainly he'd be welcome, but that is not what he asked for," Obi-Wan said. "Little Anakin would not be happy with anything less than the wonderful vision of heroism he has in his head." 

"A boy's dreams. He'd grow out of it."

"Maybe," Obi-Wan conceded. "But regardless - the decision is not up to either of us." He turned to match her position, leaning against the railing. The sky was very bright during this time of the month, the moon's closest period of orbit. It made the lights of Theed even more brilliant than they are normally. "It's our own fault. We encourage the stories - helps us get things done faster."

"I'd noticed that," Padmé said, sharply amused.

"Even still. A life with the Jedi would be difficult normally, let alone what he'd have to endure with the added weight of my Master's expectations," Obi-Wan said dryly. "And Qui Gon can be very persuasive. I've no doubt he had some kind of plan to change their minds. He could have pulled it off, perhaps, if he hadn't been stuck in surgery while they were off doing all that important deliberating."

"Perhaps you're right then, that it's for the best," Padmé said, her distaste for Qui Gon more blatant than it was normally, here in private. "It was kind of the Chancellor to buy Shmi's freedom. Whatever happens to them both - wherever Ani ends up - it will certainly be better than where they've been."

"Let's hope so," Obi-Wan said genuinely. 

"He could fall in love, get married," Padmé said, her voice decidedly neutral. "No rules against that, when you're a politician's ward, and not a Jedi in training."

"Jedi fall in love all the time," Obi-Wan replied, keeping his eyes firmly on the skyline. 

"I'm sure. But marry?"

"Do you need to marry to love?"

"It's the usual conclusion to such a thing," Padmé said, "or so I'm told, anyway."

"The Code disallows attachment, not love," Obi-Wan said. "Two different things. Marriage is a political institution, not an emotional one."

"You're impossible," Padmé said, turning to face him as her patience finally broke. "You know what I mean to ask you."

"I'm almost sure I don't," Obi-Wan said. 

Padmé frowned at him, still agitated. Her court makeup had been partially rubbed off, and the effect was such that her face looked halfway ghostly, smears of white and red wiped away to reveal the skin underneath. "Explain to me the difference. As your Council sees it, not as you do."

Obi-Wan had to look away, take a deep breath, in order to form a coherent answer. "Attachment is possession. Roots planted, to a specific place or person. Marriage - family, children - these are roots. Solid ground you sink your feet into. Things you value, and rightly so. Things you would sacrifice anything to protect. Such a choice is not compatible with the life of a Knight. Not only would they be put in danger by our work, but is it not the height of selfishness, to ask another being to endure your long absences, the publicity of your position, the knowledge that every mission might be your last?"

"You could the say the same of a soldier's family," Padmé challenged. 

"Yes," Obi-Wan said, "but not all soldiers can do this." Reaching out to the Force, Obi-Wan pulled the shawl that had fallen from her shoulders back up around her neck, wrapping it loosely around one of her bare arms. Padmé gasped, taking a step back in surprise. 

"Did you do that? Truly?" she asked in amazement, pulling the shawl tight. "I saw you fighting, but - just like that, with your mind?"

"I could pull it around your neck and strangle you, if I so chose," Obi-Wan continued, unapologetically blunt. "When I was a youngling, I once shattered a vase in my Master's apartment when I lose a game of sabacc with a friend. Another time, I lost control in a duel and broke the arm of another student. We were sparring hand to hand, and she was teasing me at the time. I was upset."

Padmé swallowed visibly. "You were a child."

"Yes. But tell me this, Padmé - would you trust some of those men on your governing council with this power?" He ruffled the shawl again, making its fringes dance. "Would you trust Anakin?"

Her expression faltered. 

"This is what they mean by attachment: loving something so deeply that you lose perspective. Loving someone to the point where you think you own them. When you can't block out jealousy, or fear - that leads to the Dark Side. To using what you have selfishly, and destructively." Obi-Wan looked down at his own hands, still bruised and cut from the battle. "I killed a Sith yesterday, Padmé."

"I know." 

"I cut him in half with my saber. His entire body - cut in half."

"I know that too." Tentatively, she reached out to touch his arm. Obi-Wan allowed it, but felt the entirety of his attention narrow down to that one point of contact: her palm against the crook of his elbow. His entire universe in a single inch. "You acted out of necessity, not destruction. I know that as well as I know my own name."

"Did I? I was angry, and scared. I thought Qui Gon was dead. Could I say for sure that there wasn't another way?" Obi-Wan had to pull his arm away, for the sake of his own control. Padmé didn't even flinch, tucking her hand back beneath the folds of her shawl. "The Council seems to think so. But the Council needs me. Master Dooku announced his departure not even a year ago, and we are losing recruits by the droves. Almost half of each graduating class leaves the Order entirely each year, for jobs or families or whatever else - and the percentage is rising." He looked back up at the sky, squinting out into the darkness. "With dear Tahl's death - and now Qui Gon, out of commission until he recovers, perhaps forever if they don't manage to save his leg - and the loss of several apprentices, whether through defection or illness…" Obi-Wan stopped before he goes into perhaps too much detail. "Our numbers are thin, Your Highness. And the Senate is calling upon us now more than ever."

"You just said yourself - this power is a grave responsibility," Padmé said. "They would not have given you a title you did not deserve, Obi-Wan."

"A title I earned, yes. But deserve?" Obi-Wan shook his head. "I'm not sure any of us do."

Padmé, not one to be deterred easily, simply reached out and placed her hand on his arm again, in the exact same spot as before. Obi-Wan laughed softly, shaking his head at the sky, and left it be. 

"The Code does not forbid love," Obi-Wan continued, steeling his shoulders against the weight of those words. "In fact, it encourages it - love of yourself, of nature, of life, of your fellow Jedi. Love for those you help, and even those who fight against you. 'Walk into the night with an open heart' - I had a teacher who used to say that. But the nature of this universe is that love - as well as everything else - is fleeting. The Force unites us all - but only for a short time. The span of our lifetimes are blinks - fleeting bursts of light - when compared to the whole end sum of the universe. We are here, and we live fiercely, and then we die - we become part of that beautiful whole, but just a small part. To try and hold onto that light for longer than it is given to you - to try and impose yourself upon the order of the Force - is attachment. Attachment to your own survival above the wisdom of the design. The belief that you are owed something more, simply because you want it."

"Do Jedi love then, without attachment?" Padmé asked, her voice hushed. "Is that even possible for a being to do? To be truly selfless?"

"I know it's possible. Is it possible for me?" Obi-Wan's voice ached. "Padmé, I truly don't know."

Padmé's hand slid slowly from his arm, coming to a gentle rest against the stone of the balcony. In the distance, the festival continued - bursts of light and sound, traveling to them on the rhythm of the wind. 

"Your friendship has been invaluable to me these past months," Obi-Wan said, clearing his throat of the emotion, releasing it into the Force. "I've had similar missions to this one, fought similar battles - I once left the Order, even, to help fight a Rebellion - remind me to tell you _that_ story sometime - "

"I should hope so! And don't act like I'm the one doing _you_ a favor," Padmé said, shaking her head. "We never would've made it back to Theed without you and Qui Gon's help. Forget about retaking the palace - we never would have made it out of the Sacred Forest if it weren't for your expertise."

"You were gaining ground quickly enough on your own. Our assistance was, if anything, with Darth Maul."

"Still. Six months on the ground, we only gained, what - twenty miles?" She sighed. "I've gotten so used to you being here, I'm afraid of what it will be like when you are gone."

Obi-Wan didn't trust himself to answer, not with her hand still on his arm. He kept his eyes faithfully on the night sky. 'Walk with an open heart,' indeed. 

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't be so forward." Padmé finally reclaimed her hand again. "I meant - your counsel too. Of course. If I'd relied on _my_ Council for advice - why, we'd probably still be on Coruscant right now."

"Probably," Obi-Wan agreed, with a wry grin. 

"Let me tell _you_ a story now," Padmé said, with a matching grin. "I've spoken to you often of my sister."

"Sola the star, yes."

"Sola the incorrigible," Padmé replied. "She's getting married in a few months - or she was, before the occupation. They'll probably delay for now, until Naboo recovers."

"That's wonderful - you approve, I assume?"

"Oh yes. He adores her - an important quality in a brother-in-law," Padmé said. She smiled. "He's actually the one who convinced me to lie about my age. He helped me in the regional assessment trials I sat to qualify for the planetary election. Every time someone asked me why I seemed so 'mature for my age,' he'd step in and ask another question - one complicated or controversial enough that my answer would be just as distracting. And then sooner or later, everyone just stopped asking." She shook her head. "A year ago, I thought the greatest challenge of my tenure would be the scandal it would cause, when the truth inevitably came out."

Obi-Wan shook his head. "Only on a planet such as this would _seventeen_ be considered _too old_ to lead an entire planet."

"To be fair, I _have_ always been mature for my age," Padmé said, teeth glinting in her smile. She nudged his arm. "It's tradition."

"So I'm told."

"Anyway, that's not my story," Padmé continued. "Darred's an astroscientist as well. That's how he and Sola met - he used to work for my father. When I was little, he would bring me little treats and candies from his travels…" Padmé grinned down at the ground. "In retrospect, he was probably trying to bribe me to keep quiet about all those visits to my sister's window after twilight."

Obi-Wan laughed at the thought. A suitor at a twilight window - Naboo truly was a deeply optimistic world. 

"Anyway. When I returned from the refugee service, he asked me what I wanted to do. 'I want to help people,' I told him. And I meant it - I just wasn't sure how to go about it," Padmé confessed. "I was fourteen and the suffering I'd seen seemed so large, so insurmountable, I found myself overwhelmed. It was the first time I'd ever been offworld."

"A rude awakening, I'm sure."

"To put it lightly," Padmé replied. "It was Darred and Sola who helped me clarify what I wanted: what am I good at? What are my strengths? How do I apply them in order to make a difference? The answers seemed so simple, once they broke the questions down into smaller pieces for me. I'm articulate, quick on my feet. I'm decisive, unafraid of risks. I'm better at big picture solutions than I am with small, everyday minutiae. I'm organized and good with people. Politics seemed like the obvious path to take."

"You are good at it," Obi-Wan said. "Young, still - but of course we are both young - "

"Mature for our age," Padmé said, laughing. 

"But a calling is a calling," Obi-Wan agreed, grinning at her. "Many other leaders would have buckled beneath the pressure in a crisis such as this. Master Yoda did not exaggerate when he credited you with your planet's survival, Padmé."

She blushed beneath the praise, making her look her own age suddenly: just a seventeen year old girl, with the weight of a galaxy upon her shoulders. The Queen of Naboo was a ceremonial position before she came along, Obi-Wan knew. Nobody was expecting her to find a way out of the crisis all on her own - least of all her own people. 

"With a lot of help, perhaps," she conceded. "Still - Sola and my mother would have preferred I stayed in the refugee service. That way I could have still had a normal life - something beyond my reach, now. Found a boy to marry, settled down to the lake country with my children - like Sola's surely planning on doing."

"Not in your stars?" Obi-Wan asked. "I can imagine you with children, but - retired? Never."

"No," Padmé said decisively. "I would like children someday, yes. But you're right - I couldn't bear to live a life of peace. Not when I know how many beings there are in the galaxy who are trapped in war."

Obi-Wan nodded thoughtfully, his throat a little tight. 

"My parents were away so often," Padmé explained. "My mother in the flight service, my father with his teaching posts. Darred and Sola raised me, for all intents and purposes. And she sat me down one day and told me - said very plainly to my face that if I were to be elected Queen, I would never have a normal life again." She smiled wryly. "And she was right. She always wanted to protect me from our parents' ambitions for me - and Darred's, too."

"A good sister," Obi-Wan said softly. 

"Yes," Padmé said, pressing one hand to her throat. "Yes. She told me to think about it - really think, for at least a week, she said - about what I'd be giving up. Privacy, anonymity. I could still marry, but it would have to be someone special, who could put up with the publicity. Someone who could make sacrifices, and not come to resent me for it - not an easy thing to find." Padmé tilted her head. "Someone who could love selflessly, is perhaps another way to put it."

"Padmé," Obi-Wan said gently, his heart beating twice as fast as it normally did. He felt every thump in his wrists, pulsing just a few seconds off-beat. "Padmé, I can't offer you - "

"Did I ask for something? I don't think I did," Padmé said, reaching out and stopping him mid-sentence with one hand, her fingertips brushing his chin so lightly he shivered. "We're young, and you're leaving in the morning."

"Yes," Obi-Wan said, breathless. 

"So let's break this down into smaller pieces," Padmé offered, a smile lurking around the corners of her mouth. "You have a private comm unit."

"Yes."

"As do I," Padmé said. "I value your advice, for many reasons - "

"As do I," Obi-Wan repeated, moving his hands so that they match Padmé's, lying again on the stone railing. "Even when we disagree - "

"Maybe especially when we disagree," Padmé said, smiling. "If I give you my code, will you use it, Master Jedi?"

"I think I will," Obi-Wan said, experiencing a feeling not unlike the one he had only weeks before, diving into a bottomless black lake with no oxygen unit on the advice of an adolescent Gungan. _Yousa must jump! Mustn't be thinkin!_ "I have a feeling, my lady, that if anyone could teach me how to be selfless, it would be you."

Padmé blinked rapidly, her mouth pinching as it did when she was truly overwhelmed - the same face she'd worn almost constantly on the ship to Coruscant. This version of it, Obi-Wan was humbled to discover, was much softer - her eyes crinkled at the edges, and her hands clasped together, trembling a little against the stone. Her shawl fluttered haphazardly in the wind, but her hair didn't move, still trapped in its braids. Just once, Obi-Wan would like to see her with it down. Just once would be enough. 

"Show me the moon one more time," Obi-Wan said, breaking the silence. "I've lost it again."

Padmé raised one hand to point silently, her face cast in shadow by the sudden shelter of her arm. 

"Perhaps I could see it from whichever planet I'm on next," Obi-Wan said, squinting up at the sky once more, trying to burn the position of the tiny planet into his memory. "I could at least see Naboo. Especially if this Festival of Lights goes on much longer."

"Well, that's easy," Padmé said, her smile coming slow and soft. "All you have to do is trace my signal, Master Jedi. Surely that could help you find your way."

The light looked almost blue in the early hours of the morning, filtered as it was through the wide stained glass of the palace's hangar. Not for the first time, Obi-Wan wondered if these early morning ceremonies were a deliberate tactic on Padmé's part. The Senator - now Chancellor - had a well-known distaste for waking up early. 

Sure enough, Palpatine looked agitated and impatient, although he was as courteous as ever to Yoda and the other Masters. As he passed Obi-Wan, something in his face flickered - a silent distaste that made Obi-Wan's shoulders straighten. 

"Those robes look good on you, _Master_ Kenobi," he said, his tone betraying nothing but courtesy, of course. "We'll certainly miss your guidance at the Palace. I'm sure Queen Amidala would say the same."

"I shall miss Naboo as well," he said diplomatically. "Rarely have I been shown such hospitality."

"We are known for that," Palpatine replied mildly, nodding in bare courtesy, already visibly moving on to the next person in line. "May the Force be with you, Master Jedi."

"And with you," Obi-Wan said, bowing again. By the time he straightened back up, Palpatine was already engrossed in conversation with one of his advisors, almost halfway across the hangar.

Master Windu, standing a few steps behind him, clapped a bracing hand against Obi-Wan's shoulder. Obi-Wan glanced over at Yoda, but the Grand Master seemed to be blithely pretending that neither of them existed at all, poking instead at one of the astromech droids with his cane and causing quite the little scene over by the loading dock. 

"Politicians," Mace muttered, squeezing Obi-Wan's shoulder once before sliding his hand back beneath his robes. Obi-Wan had to bite his lip to keep the laugh from emerging. 

Shmi Skywalker was much more genuine, of course. She squeezed Obi-Wan's hands warmly, thanking him again - for probably the thousandth time. 

"I couldn't even tell you," she said, tearing up as she struggled with the words, "what you and your Master did for us - it's just - "

"Thank the Chancellor," Obi-Wan said, "and the Queen. All we did was give you a ride."

"Oh no, you did more than that," Shmi said, casting her eyes over to her son. Young Anakin was practically hanging off Palpatine's legs, his face wide open with admiration. Obi-Wan watched from across the hangar as the Chancellor reached down to ruffle the young boy's hair, his face bright with affection. 

"Will you stay on Naboo for the time being?" Obi-Wan asked, tearing his eyes away from the pair. Something squirmed in his stomach at the sight - for what reason, he didn't know. 

"For awhile, yes. The Queen has given us a house." Shmi seemed more than a little overwhelmed, her eyes perpetually wide and round in her face. "When Ani's old enough, I suppose we'll go to Coruscant, providing the Chancellor is still willing to take him on. Me, I suppose I'll find work - wherever Ani goes, be it here or somewhere else - "

"The choice is yours now," Mace said, startling Shmi a little with his deep, sudden voice. But her face softened as she regarded the austere Master. Perhaps she could sense that quiet humor that Mace deployed so often to break the ice, whether in Council meetings or tense meetings at the Senate building. "Your family will always be welcome with the Order, Madam Skywalker. I hope you are aware that the Council's decision regarding Anakin's training does not mean we would hesitate to help, should you ever be in need of us."

"No, never," Shmi swore. "To be honest, I'm relieved. I mean, he has such dreams, but…" she shook her head. "A mother's worry is just as powerful."

Obi-Wan smiled at her. "I've no doubt he'll find just as much trouble to get into here in Theed as he would on Coruscant, I'm sorry to say."

Shmi laughed with delight. "You're tellin' me," she said. "Tell Qui Gon - well, you know - would you, Obi-Wan?"

"Of course," Obi-Wan replied, squeezing her hands again as she pulled away. Watching her retreat to join Anakin and Palpatine, Obi-Wan found himself hoping, with every scrap of optimism he had, that her life would be an easy one, from here on out. A good job, a warm home. Anakin would grow to be an intelligent, graceful man beneath Palpatine's care - the man was ambitious, and a bit condescending, but what politician wasn't? Surely Anakin and Shmi were in good hands. Obi-Wan hoped with all his heart that their dreams would be fulfilled - at least some of them. They deserved that much. 

"A family strong in the Force," Mace murmured, staying close enough to Obi-Wan's shoulder to talk in confidence, even in the crowded room. "Did Qui Gon sense her ability too, or was he so blinded by the boy that it escaped his attention?"

"I really couldn't say," Obi-Wan replied neutrally, torn between his own private agreement and loyalty to Qui Gon. That his Master - former Master now, though he doubted he'd get used to saying that anytime soon - was still unconscious, in a medically induced healing trance, already in transit back to Coruscant, sharpened his guilt. "She's a compassionate woman. She helped us even before she knew we could do anything for her son."

"Hm," Mace said, his worried eyes fixed on the figure of the Chancellor, bending down to talk to Anakin, his face intently friendly. Anakin was replying with enthusiasm, and even from all the way across the tarmac, the good humor was visible on Palpatine's face. "I sense your conflict, Obi-Wan. Be at ease - I come to you as a colleague and a friend now. Remember, you are no longer an apprentice."

"Yes, now that I have a whole forty-eight hours as a Jedi Knight, I feel much more confident," Obi-Wan replied dryly. 

Mace laughed. "It will come," he assured him, squeezing Obi-Wan's shoulder. "Between you and me, Obi-Wan? None of us were ever worried about you. Ever since you were a youngling, your future was as clear as the sky above our heads."

Obi-Wan glanced up at the sky in question, which was, in fact, the brightest blue he'd ever seen. Naboo had been hurt - devastated, even - by the occupation, but Obi-Wan had no doubt it would survive. Even now, the signs of reconstruction were starting to appear - construction had already begun on the burnt areas of the palace, and the open-air market in the middle of the city had been open for days. Above them, the Naboo Flight Service had resumed normal operations, the transports open again for the first time since the Trade Federation's blockade had begun, nearly six months before. 

"Confidence borne of experience is worth much more than bravado," Obi-Wan said. "Isn't that what Master Tahl used to say?"

"Yes, but until you _have_ experience, bravado will at least keep you standing upright," Mace replied with a friendly smile. It dipped, the moment Palpatine crossed his line of sight again, leading the Skywalkers back into the depths of the palace. "Qui Gon will not take this well."

"I'm aware," Obi-Wan said dryly. 

"I apologize in advance for the Council's presumption," Mace said wryly, "but I suspect you're already anticipating it."

Obi-Wan folded his hands beneath his robes and said nothing. It was by far the safer option. 

"A brilliant man," Mace said thoughtfully. "Too prideful, but aren't we all?" He shrugged. "You know him far better than any of us managed. He certainly trusts you more."

Trust? Obi-Wan still had trouble with that perception of his Master. Even in his most unguarded moments, Qui Gon still seemed to hold himself back, aloof even in the most intimate of situations. Surely, he'd been hurt by Xanatos' defection. Surely, he was hesitant to take on another apprentice. But his affection, his tutelage, his guidance - all of it was freely given, and Obi-Wan never once doubted any of it. But still - there was _something_ missing. It couldn't just be their differences of opinion. 

It was difficult not to resent what the Council came to mean, between them - this was far from the first time that Mace or Ki-Adi-Mundi had used Obi-Wan to reign in Qui Gon, one way or another. Obi-Wan could see the logic in it, however - and as he grew older, was pragmatic enough to go along with it. 

"I'll talk to him," Obi-Wan capitulated. 

"Good," Mace said, satisfied. His hand slid from Obi-Wan's shoulder. "This will not be the last we hear of the Trade Federation. They will take this loss hard, and find a way to retaliate - whether against Naboo, or someone else, remains to be seen." He shook his head. "We can't afford to lose any more Jedi. Not now, when trouble looms so closely, Obi-Wan."

The warning was shocking enough on its own without the implication that Qui Gon might actually _defect_ over the Anakin issue - Obi-Wan found himself feeling defensive, and took a moment to release the emotion into the Force before he replied. "We will serve the Republic," he said, "as we have always done. Should our numbers fail to stabilize, we will find a way to continue. It is the capacity of our help that will change, not its nature."

"Of course," Mace said, inclining his head. Whether he heard Obi-Wan's admonishment or not, he surely must have sensed his release of emotion - they didn't speak again. 

As their ship was readied for departure, finally Padmé made her appearance - a largely ceremonial gesture that she'd confided to Obi-Wan was more of an imposition than she'd let on, officially. _Fourteen thousand people still confined to camps in the rural territories - thousands more injured in the battle, human and Gungan - entire provinces still on comm lockdown, with probably no idea at all that the fighting is over - and they want me to show up in a dress and make small talk with Master Yoda!_

Obi-Wan smiled, just thinking about it. He hadn't taken it personally - Padmé was not a sentimental person, by nature. It was one of the reasons he liked her. 

Master Yoda had probably even less patience with ceremony than she did - watching them interact these last few weeks was always entertaining, to say the least. Padmé swept into the room in all her ostentatious splendor - her handmaidens at each side, dressed in alternating gowns in cascading layers of blue and green - the colors of friendship. Yoda took one look at her and twitched his ears in such visible annoyance that Obi-Wan heard Mace audibly stifling a laugh. 

"You must again allow us to thank you for your assistance," Padmé said, her court-monotone even flatter than usual. "You have earned the friendship of us, and that of our people. Masters Qui Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi, in particular, will always be welcomed on Naboo, regardless of circumstance or affiliation, for the rest of their lives."

"A long period of welcome, hopefully that will be, yes?" Yoda's ears twitched again, as he leaned on his cane. Padmé glanced over at Obi-Wan, just briefly, but long enough for the Master to notice. He chuckled. "Hrm. A good vacation spot, this is. Blue skies, many oceans. Not too many droids anymore, either. Yes, the Jedi thank you, your Highness. Thank you very much indeed."

One of the handmaidens - little Cordé, Obi-Wan noticed - stifled a grin. Behind Obi-Wan, Mace had his face covered halfway by his hood - quite convenient, Obi-Wan thought with amusement. 

"The Grand Master graces us with his humor," Padmé said, a bit lighter despite her formal language. "Are all Jedi as quick to joke as he is, we wonder?"

"Best shared between friends humor is," Yoda replied. He inclined his head. "And our friend, you are, Queen Amidala. Quick may your recovery be, and hesitate to call upon us again, do not. Answer, we will."

"Thank you," Padmé said, sounding genuinely touched, and bowed her head. Obi-Wan smiled at her as she rose again, raising an eyebrow at her headdress, which seemed almost too heavy for her to lift. She glanced at him quickly once more, and her mouth twitched as she looked away. Standing at her left shoulder - the place of honor, for the most trusted handmaiden - Sabé shot him a quick grin, hiding it quickly in her hood, just as Mace was still hiding his. Obi-Wan shook his head at the lot of them - feeling his spirits lift despite themselves - the uncertain future seemed, for the first time in months, a bit clearer. A bit less ominous. 

"May the Force be with you, Highness," Yoda said. With the sound of the words, the very air itself seemed to thicken, and Obi-Wan's vision clouded over, a second set of images overlaid over the scene before his eyes: a platform, raised above a crowd of soldiers in patched-together uniforms. A young woman, who looked very much like Padmé, her hair in a braided crown, hanging a medal around a young man's neck. Obi-Wan's shoulders snapped back, his spine going rigid, as the young teenager turned around: he had Anakin's face. Anakin's face, but in his hands was Darth Maul's light saber, and as Obi-Wan watched, the young man turned and struck the young woman at the waist, slashing her the same way that Obi-Wan had struck at Darth Maul, cleaving her body in two and killing her instantly. Blood ran down the steps of the platform in silence, and the crowd of soldiers turned to stone in the next moment, their faces frozen in mute horror. Anakin, with Maul's saber still alight, laughed silently, his body fading into a plume of black smoke that rose up from beneath his feet. His skin turned black, and soon there was no color at all, aside from the glowing red of the light saber. 

The vision faded as quickly as it came, and Obi-Wan blinked back at reality again: Padmé, her handmaidens around her, bowing formally to Master Yoda. Behind him, Mace reached out and gripped his shoulder, silently reaching out with quiet, mental concern. 

_I'm fine,_ Obi-Wan thought, sending the thought to Mace. Yoda was also frozen, his ears pressed back against his head in alarm, though it didn't show on his face. _I'm fine. A Force vision. I'm fine._

His skin felt quite cold, and he clasped his hands together tightly beneath the sleeves of his robes, falling easily into meditative breathing as he tried to calm his heart. Mace kept his hand on his shoulder, a silent presence of strength and calm, and soon his pulse was back to normal - although he couldn't shake the cold. It was as if an icy wind had blown through the tarmac and affected only Obi-Wan; the sunlight was all around him, but he could not feel it. 

"And also with you, Grand Master Jedi," Padmé said, as she rose back to her feet. Obi-Wan blinked; only a few seconds had passed. Mace's hand was firm and unmoving on his shoulder. "We wish you safe travels back to Coruscant."

"Thank you," Yoda replied, and quickly turned, ending the ceremony. He peered at Obi-Wan, then turned abruptly to make his way up the gangplank, his cane smacking rhythmically against the steel. Obi-Wan watched him silently, and then glanced at Padmé, who was smiling after the Master quizzically. Cordé had broken protocol to whisper to another handmaiden, who was clearly chastising her, albeit with a gentle smile, and Padmé herself then followed suit, turning to Sabé to murmur something in her ear. She didn't look back at Obi-Wan at all, but he felt her regard just the same: the same way he'd felt it for months now, in the middle of a crowded room, surrounded by Gungan soldiers or security advisors or Qui Gon himself, austere and silent in his disapproval. Obi-Wan could always tell when she was thinking about him; her presence in the Force became warm, like the glowing embers of a fireplace that warmed the stone beneath your feet. 

Obi-Wan took a deep breath, and as his emotions centered, Mace's hand fell away again. They turned in unison towards the ship, and although he didn't look back either, he could still see her in his mind's eye - turned away, surrounded by her handmaidens, and still, thinking of him. 

That young woman, Obi-Wan thought, as he followed Mace up the gangplank - was it her daughter? Sola's daughter? And Anakin - 

He shivered. Master Yoda was waiting for him, in the corridor that led towards the cockpit. 

"Dwell, do not," he said, motioning with his cane. "Meditation, you need. Master Windu."

"I'll inform the captain that we are ready to depart," Mace said gravely, and silently disappeared into the circuitous hallway. Obi-Wan took another circular breath, and clasped his hands beneath his robes again. 

"Discuss this we will," Yoda said, not without compassion, although his face betrayed nothing. Not that Yoda was ever particularly expressive, but in times of stress - he always made sure to conceal even the slightest hint. It was one of the more frustrating aspects of studying with the Grand Master - the final exams he administered every year were notorious among the younglings. "Until we are in hyperspace, we must wait. Come."

Obi-Wan said nothing. Yoda led him down towards the living quarters, still smacking his cane annoyingly loud against the steel plating, but Obi-Wan barely even heard it. He could sense Padmé even still - warm and close, although physically farther away, as they moved further and further away from each other. Would he sense her even from the other side of the galaxy? Would that make this even more difficult - to feel like this every time he crossed her mind, even light years apart?

He wasn't sure. In his pocket was his comm unit, with her code programmed into it - the only one in it other than Qui Gon's, and the Coruscant Temple's emergency frequency. 

"Meditate," Yoda said, a gentle order as they reached the living quarters. He smacked the side of the control panel with his cane, and the door slid open. Obi-Wan smiled softly and stepped inside. "A powerful vision, that was. Come to peace with it before speak it out loud, you must."

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan said. Yoda smacked him with his cane, and Obi-Wan jumped. "Ouch! What was that for?"

Yoda peered up at him, his ears still pressed flat against his head. Then he laughed, a vindictive snicker that made Obi-Wan scowl. "Felt like it, I did."

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and retreated into the meditation room, hearing Yoda's laughter echo a little down the corridor as he smacked his way back towards the cockpit. Everything Yoda did had a purpose, even though nobody around him seemed to understand it. _Get used to that,_ Qui Gon would tell him, after a frustrating class or tutoring session with the Grand Master. _You'll be dealing with that little elf for the rest of your life, Obi-Wan._

Indeed. Obi-Wan sank down onto the floor, already halfway into meditation, his shoulders still tense and his mind still spinning. He could feel the familiar rumbling and shifting of the ship preparing for takeoff, and in his mind's eye he pictured the tarmac: Padmé still standing with her handmaidens, on the other side of the glass windows to protect their gowns from the exhaust. Probably still talking with Sabé - definitely about him, for he could still feel the warmth of her thoughts, even now. Above them, the hangar moving from its half-open position to reveal the whole breadth of Naboo's bright blue sky, and above that even still would be the clouds, streaked with blue from the irradium in the atmosphere.

The further they got from the planet, the greener it would look: a side effect of those clouds, which looked like a solid layer of gas from space. And in hyperspace, the planet would be frozen in their viewscreens, stretched unnaturally as a side effect of the quantum gravity that would batter their shields as they entered the hyperspace corridor. Obi-Wan would be able to gaze upon Naboo for hours after they'd left it - preserved in the last moment they'd seen it, green and hopeful against the black vacuum of space. 

And still, the comm in his pocket. Obi-Wan breathed in calm, and breathed out stress. There was no emotion, just peace. No ignorance, just knowledge. Beneath his feet, there was steel, but his mind was pure air: flying through a blue, cloudy sky, or swimming freely down an endless lake, his breath trailing behind him in a looping path of bubbles. One with the Force, and with his heart, which was wide open, beating strongly in time with the pulse of the forest. Above his head were trees heavy with wilting leia flowers, and he slept easily - surrounded on all sides by the embers of a gentle, warming fire. 

II. 

**Ten Years Later**

Cordé was dead. The banquet hall was overflowing with people - senators and advisors, an array of important aides and assistants, ambassadors, and of course Masters Windu and Jinn from the Temple, and Cordé was dead. Senator Padmé Amidala was due to make a speech in her bodyguard's honor, to speak of her bravery and dedication to her post, and Cordé was still dead. The food was delicious - expensive delicacies from every planet in the Chommell sector, and Cordé was still dead, dead, dead. 

Padmé couldn't stand herself, at the present moment. Her face itched underneath her makeup and her gown was heavy and stiff, restricting her movements. She had no less than four weapons attached to her person - both as subtle as her trusty poison earrings, which would incapacitate the entire room with a single, spoken code word - and as obvious as the blaster quite visibly strapped into a holster at her waist. She was having trouble understanding why her security even bothered to give her a gun when her damn dress would probably trip her and get her killed before she even had a chance to use it. 

"Young and full of promise," the Chancellor said. Seven minutes into a speech, for a bodyguard he barely knew - Padmé knew she should feel honored by his attendance and attention, for she knew it was for her sake and not Cordé's. But the longer he spoke, the more she hated it. "We grieve for the loss of our friend's presence, but more than that we grieve for the possibility of her life. The heights she might've reached, had her light not been extinguished before her time in a senseless act of violence - an unprovoked attack on a peaceful citizen. The love and compassion and accomplishment she might have contributed to our beautiful universe, had she not been cut down by violence of the most terrible kind. That is why we are here today - to honor what she might have been. To grieve together, as friends of one who gave her life for the Republic."

Beside her, Sabé stood as still as a mountain, her face hidden by the hood of her robes. Glancing back, Padmé saw her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Her heart pulsed at the sight - a quick stab of pain that Padmé gritted her teeth against, breathing through it as Obi-Wan had taught her - in, three seconds. Out, five. Breathe in light, push out darkness. _There is no emotion, there is only peace._

Oh, Obi-Wan. Padmé closed her eyes briefly, her heart pulsing for an entirely different reason. He'd gone silent three days before, and the Temple had no news for her or anyone else on the status of his mission. She was trying very hard not to let her thoughts stray any further into darkness, but oh, she missed him. What she wouldn't give, to have him here with her in this moment, on this day. 

"Be silent with me, friends," said Chancellor Palpatine. Padmé reached over, without opening her eyes, and groped for Sabé's hand. Sabé opened her fist and squeezed tightly, and they sat there together, stewing in silent anger together. "Let us think of beautiful, brave Cordé, who rests at peace now, one with the universe. Let us thank her for her sacrifice, and mourn the life she did not get to live."

Padmé heard the crowd rustling - gowns and skirts, soles of shoes against the floor, rings and earrings rattling, huffing and sighing and coughing. She hated every single one of them, in that moment. A show of support, for _her_ \- for Padmé Amidala, Senator from Naboo. A powerful figure in the Senate, who held chair positions on no less than twenty-five committees, and was a voting member in some fifty more. Senator Amidala, who remained the youngest person to ever address the Senate at large, if one didn't count Senator Walarn's newborn daughter, who attended sessions cradled in her mother's arms as she made her speeches. None of them cared about Cordé - most of them probably never even noticed her. That had been Cordé's job, of course - to go unnoticed. To hide her face in public, so she could pose as Padmé should the need ever arise. 

Well, the need had, and Cordé did. And now she was dead, and Padmé _hated_ them. 

_There is no emotion, there is only peace._ Sabé squeezed her hand harder, hard enough to hurt. Padmé didn't flinch. 

"Thank you," the Chancellor said, releasing the crowd from the silence. Padmé opened her eyes again, looking around at the attendance as they relaxed. Her eyes fell on the Jedi - back against the walls, in the shadows of the room. Master Jinn had his artificial leg in place, though she could tell it was paining him from the rigid way he held himself, and how close Master Windu was standing. Despite herself, Padmé felt a bit of her ire melt away - Qui Gon had probably wanted to show respect, to stand on his own for such an occasion. The gesture touched her - she could always be certain that such actions were sincere from the Jedi. They had no patience or use for false sympathy, the way politicians did. 

She turned back to Sabé, leaning in close enough to whisper. Her friend's eyes were still closed, but Padmé knew she was listening. "I will not speak," she said. 

"My lady?"

"I will not give my speech," Padmé repeated, leaning back before Sabé had a chance to reply. Sabé's eyes were open now, unshed tears making them glisten. But there was no reproach in her expression. She simply nodded, and squeezed Padmé's hand. 

Cordé had no family, otherwise they would have held an occasion such as this back on Naboo, where they could have attended - but she was an orphan, who'd joined Padmé's service when she was a young girl of only eleven. After fighting bravely during the Occupation, Padmé had promoted her to security apprentice, and she'd studied for four years beneath Captain Panaka before returning to Padmé's security detail upon her election to the Senate. She was tireless - playful and witty in private, but unflinchingly serious in her work, she had Panaka's determination and stubbornness, and a handmaiden's attention to detail. Padmé was never scared when she was under Cordé's care. This latest threat had barely even phased her - not once had Padmé _ever_ thought that - 

Well. That's always what people say, isn't it? You never see it coming until it happens. Padmé didn't think she'd ever forget that moment on the landing pad, when she'd ripped off her helmet to see the wound more clearly. _Just a graze, it has to be just a graze,_ she'd thought, desperately repeating it even though she could see it wasn't true. Cordé hadn't said a word - just reached up and touched Padmé's face, smiling like she did when she'd just made a joke. Panaka had cried out louder than Padmé had, tears running openly down his face as he'd rushed Padmé inside, physically holding her arms against her sides as Padmé fought to pull away, trying to get back to Cordé, still halfway convinced that there was still a chance - if only they could get her to the medbay quick enough - 

_There is no emotion, there is only peace._ Padmé rose to her feet and fled the crowd at the very first chance, leaving Sabé with the task of subtly cutting off the Chancellor before he announced her speech to the crowd. Sure enough, Sabé was quick to dart up to the platform, signaling to Anakin with one hand, and as the Chancellor stopped to take a breath, Ani stepped in - smoothly taking the microphone from his aging mentor, one friendly hand pressed firmly against Palpatine's shoulder. 

"Please avail yourself of refreshment, and be kind to each other in your grief," Ani said. Padmé joined the Jedi Masters at the wall, listening incredulously as Ani comforted a bunch of politicians who mostly had no idea whose funeral they were even attending. "Share your memories of Cordé, and rejoice in her life. The Chancellor thanks you for your respect during this trying time."

Almost instantly, the crowd of attendees were released from their silence, and the rustling started up - along with chatting, some polite laughter, footsteps and chairs shuffling and scraping against the floor. On the stage, Ani and Sabé were gently guiding the Chancellor towards the door; Padmé's brow creased in concern at the shaking in Palpatine's hands, which seemed much worse than it had been in months, to her eyes. 

"Senator," Master Jinn greeted. Mace Windu nodded at her silently, and retreated back into the crowd before Padmé could muster a reply. Windu was always like that - there, and then gone again. It perplexed her that Obi-Wan continued to claim that he was the funniest Jedi on the Council - though she was halfway convinced it was an inside joke of some kind that she wasn't in on. "I'm so very sorry for your loss. But the ceremony was very nice."

Padmé snorted. "Was it?"

"Well," Qui Gon capitulated, "the Chancellor certainly talked for a long time."

Padmé hid a bitter smile, turning her chin towards the wall. Away from the crowd. "Do you have news for me, Qui Gon?"

"No." Qui Gon grimaced, his pain visible in the sweat on his brow. But Padmé knew he would refuse, should she offer assistance. He was as stubborn as Obi-Wan - perhaps even moreso, which was a hard thing to pull off. "Come. Let's take a walk on the balcony. I could use the exercise, and the skies are clearer than normal tonight."

Padmé nodded silently, clenching her hands in her skirt to keep herself from reaching out as he stumbled. Qui Gon's situation was a unique one - he had a rare allergy to barinth alloys, which was the main component in many prosthetic limbs, and as such he was forced to use a more limited prototype made from plastic. It was difficult and painful to use, and so he rarely did - preferring to simply walk with a cane, or use a hoverchair. Though he rarely ventured out in public such as this anymore - aside from his regular visits to the Skywalker apartments in the Senate building - Padmé knew it wasn't the looks he drew from strangers that bothered him. It was the loss of movement - his ability to stand on his own without help. A prideful man, to be sure. 

Still, Padmé loved him for who he was - in a manner of speaking. Rather, she loved him because Obi-Wan loved him - as complicated as that love was. It was quite easy to withstand someone who annoyed you, she had come to learn - if that person was important to someone you cherished. 

"Ah, see? Now this is better," Qui Gon said, "the air is much cleaner out here."

The smog was so thick that Padmé could barely even see the next building block over. But she knew what he meant, anyway. "Whose ears were prying in there, Master Jedi?"

"Quite a few. I imagine I don't need to fill you in." Qui Gon leaned heavily against the railing and smiled down at her. "Now they're too busy considering how to best flatter Ani to pay attention to us."

Padmé smiled fondly. "Such a ladykiller he is - he'll love the attention."

Qui Gon huffed out a laugh. "Night and day, my two apprentices," he said. "Obi-Wan drew just as much attention, when he was Ani's age." His eyes twinkled. "As you may well know."

Padmé rolled her eyes at him. 

"But Obi-Wan was always much too serious for such dalliances, barring one or two notable exceptions," Qui Gon finished. His demeanor sobered. "I apologize if my appearance tonight raised your hopes, my lady. I know nothing more than you do."

"Yes, well." Padmé sighed. "Thank you for coming. Cordé would have appreciated it."

Qui Gon nodded solemnly. 

"Is there truly nothing else you can tell me?" she pushed. "He couldn't say anything about this mission, and I would never ask him to betray the Council's trust just to allay my worries, but - surely it's not a coincidence, that they send him away like this and the _second_ he's gone, I start receiving these threats - "

"I'm sure it isn't," Qui Gon said. "While your - ahem, relationship - "

Padmé rolled her eyes again. 

" - might be a successful secret, it is well-known that you are an ally and champion of the Jedi, and that Obi-Wan is your closest friend on the Council. Whoever means to do you harm knows that he would be their greatest obstacle."

"Cordé said the same thing," Padmé said haltingly, her throat closing up again. "She suspected the timing was deliberate."

Qui Gon's gaze was heavy with sympathy. "She was very good at her job."

"Yes, she was." Padmé cleared her throat. "I would be willing," she said carefully, "to reconsider the Council's offer for protection, should it still be extended to me. I trust my people - " Padmé had to pause to clear her throat again, tears threatening to cut off her speech once more. "But Cordé was...very dear to all of us. I wish to give them some time off - to visit family, to grieve in private. Or whatever else they wish to do."

"I suspect most of them would wish to stay with you," Qui Gon said gently. "You inspire loyalty like no other, my lady. Surely you know that by now."

Padmé turned away, the tears spilling over silently. Her chest ached, as if it were on fire - thinking about Cordé, about one of the last conversations they'd had - _I would never leave you to face something like this alone,_ she'd said. Padmé had been trying to convince her to return to Naboo with Panaka to celebrate the Festival of Light. A vacation - it would've been her first in years, if the threatening letters hadn't begun so soon after Obi-Wan's departure.

"Even so," she managed. "If Master Zhurro is still willing - "

"He is," Qui Gon said. 

" - then I would gladly and gratefully accept his help."

Qui Gon was silent for a moment, thinking. "Very well," he said. "I will inform the others."

"Thank you."

They stood silently together for a few moments, paired in a heavy silence. Padmé stared unseeingly up at the thick, smoky sky, wishing that she could see the stars. But of course you couldn't even see past your own hand on Coruscant. Even on the highest levels of the planet-wide city, the pollution was still so thick that most people still wore the face masks even just to walk to and from their transports and speeders.

Balconies like this one were luxuries - and mostly enclosed, nowadays. Padmé had heard stories from some older beings - Dex and Eekin and others who'd grown up here on Coruscant - that it wasn't always this bad. That years before, you could even still see the sky in some areas. But most days Padmé couldn't picture this place being capable of better. Sometimes it seemed as if all the galaxy's evil came from right here - the heart of an overburdened, weary Republic. 

"If it makes you feel better," Qui Gon offered, breaking the silence, "I know he is alive. I would feel it, should he pass into the Force."

"I know," Padmé said softly. She would never be brave enough to say this to Qui Gon, but she knew she would be able to feel it too. She may not be Force sensitive - not nearly as much as Shmi or Ani, let alone a full-fledged Jedi like Obi-Wan, but - what was love, if not a product of the Force? She could feel him sometimes, when they lay in bed together - his breathing, the warmth of his skin seemed to carry with it a certain impression of his emotions - she could tell when he was tired, or in pain, or content, or happy. When he was away she could close her eyes and picture him, remembering what it felt like to lay next to him, and she swore sometimes she could feel him reaching back to her - sending her what comfort he could, from all those light years away. Perhaps it was her imagination, but - to have loved a Jedi as long as she had, she knew better than to dismiss such feelings. "But what state is he in? That is my worry."

"He is strong," Qui Gon said. 

Padmé couldn't reply, her throat clenched shut once more. 

"He is strong and he will return to you," Qui Gon finished, reaching out to gently touch her elbow. She shivered a little. "To us."

"Yes," she said, choking on the word. 

Behind them, the doors opened, letting the noise of the gathering spill into the quiet solemnity of the balcony. Ani stood there in the doorway, outlined in the light from inside, blinking in surprise at the two of them - as if they'd been the ones to burst in, instead of the other way around. 

"Qui Gon!" he said. "And Padmé - here you are." He came through the doorway and let the door shut behind him, readjusting his tunic fastidiously - an old holdover from boyhood, when Palpatine and Shmi would dress him in that ridiculous finery for festivals and formal dinners, and he'd spend the entire night fussing with his own clothes, pulling faces at court and making her handmaidens laugh. "I was worried about you - you left so quickly, and Sabé said you didn't want to give your speech."

"None of them would've listened anyway," Padmé said dismissively. "They're just here because Palpatine made it a _function_ , Ani. None of them care one whit about Cordé."

Ani frowned. 

"She just needed a little break, Anakin," Qui Gon soothed. The frown melted off the boy's face at Qui Gon's words, and Padmé turned back to the glass-walled balcony, irritated. It bothered her still - how Qui Gon appeased Ani, like an uncle who brought sweets to bribe a child into being quiet. It was none of her business, of course - but with what Obi-Wan had told her about his own suspicions, she couldn't help but be skeptical. "How is the Chancellor?"

"Resting," Ani said, "the speech wore him out. Mom took him back to the apartments." Padmé didn't look, but she heard Ani join them at the balcony, leaning against the railing on Qui Gon's opposite side. "It would've been nice if you'd come up to speak to him, Padmé. He kept asking about you."

She bristled at the subtle note of censure in his voice. "Does the Chancellor need me to give him a sponge bath too, or can you handle that on your own, Ani?"

"Padmé!" Ani bristled angrily. "That's out of line."

Padmé scoffed. 

"Anakin, be kind," Qui Gon said, in an undertone that only made Padmé angrier. "She grieves for her friend - "

"She doesn't have to insult the Chancellor! He rearranged his entire schedule to come to this, you know!"

"Kriff his schedule!" Padmé snapped. "Cordé is dead, Ani. She's dead!" Her voice broke, and she caught a glimpse of Ani's stricken face before she turned her head away, clapping her hand over her mouth. 

"I know," Ani said after a tense moment. "I know. I miss her too, Padmé."

Padmé bit back another scoff. Ani had barely known Cordé - she'd already been off with Panaka, by the time Ani started his apprenticeship with Palpatine in Theed. And here on Coruscant - she'd just been another handmaiden to Ani, she was sure. If he'd noticed Cordé at all, distracted as he was by the Chancellor's fragile health. 

Ani was a precocious youngling, and a stubborn teenager - and as a young man, he was growing more and more strident about what he thought was right and wrong, which often differed from Padmé's perception of it. They bickered more than they talked, anymore. 

"If the Chancellor wished to honor Cordé's life," Padmé said, "he wouldn't be using her death to incite fear."

"Padmé," Ani bit out angrily, visibly trying to keep his temper, "he wasn't - "

"'Senseless attack'?" Padmé repeated. "'Gave her life for the Republic?'"

"Is that not what happened?" Ani demanded. 

"Words have baggage, Ani, how many times have I told you?! Saying something like that, to a crowd of _these people,_ days away from the vote on Military Creation - and with the border skirmishes this past month, most of which were incited by _Republican_ security forces, whipped into paranoia by rhetoric just like this - "

"I don't understand how you can stand here just days after your friend was murdered by a Separatist terrorist, and still argue for peace!" Ani exclaimed. "They were trying to kill _you,_ Padmé!"

"We don't know it was a Separatist," Padmé bit back, and Qui Gon stepped between them before she could continue, his face sticken into a grimace. 

"Alright," he said, "let's save this discussion for the Senate floor, shall we? Emotions are high," he chastised both of them. "The two of you. Bickering like younglings."

The admonishment did its job, turning Ani's cheeks pink. "It's my job to protect the Chancellor's reputation," he said sullenly. "A prominent senator such as Padmé shouldn't go around - "

"I'll say whatever the frip I like," Padmé muttered. "Until the day the Republic collapses under its own nonsense, I will speak my mind as loudly and as often as I have to. And that's _my_ job, Ani."

Ani simply looked away, his face still sullen. Padmé turned away too, her chest burning with both righteous anger and shame - she shouldn't have taken the bait. He was still just a boy - only nineteen, after all. She should've known better. 

"It's been a difficult day," Qui Gon said, placatingly. He reached out and pressed a hand against Ani's shoulder, and the young man instantly relaxed in response. "Let us be gentle to each other."

Padmé's suspicions only sharpened, at the way that Ani instantly obeyed Qui Gon's advice. "I apologize, Padmé."

"It's alright, Ani." Padmé couldn't bring herself to apologize back. Perhaps that was cruel of her, but she simply wasn't capable of it, at the current moment. "Thank you for coming, both of you."

Qui Gon inclined his head silently, still holding Ani's shoulder. As if restraining him, almost - although Ani himself was staring out up at the smoggy sky, his expression distant and faintly troubled. 

She wanted to ask again about Obi-Wan, but wouldn't dare to in front of Ani. Qui Gon was still the only person in the world who knew the breadth of their secret. Other than Sabé and...well, Cordé had known as well. Of course. 

Obi-Wan still didn't know she was dead, Padmé thought. He had no idea anything had happened at all. 

"It was a beautiful ceremony," Ani said. 

Qui Gon looked over at her, one eyebrow raised, and Padmé swallowed what she really wanted to say. With all her years of practice at keeping her real emotions sheltered - it still never really got any easier. 

"Yes," she said. "It was...very nice."

"Indeed," Qui Gon replied, and the sympathy in his voice burned.

At least they were feeding him. Obi-Wan thought that was a good sign - that they cared enough to keep him alive, at the very least. If they were truly going to execute him like Dooku kept promising, then they wouldn't bother to waste nutrient packs on him. 

His cell was tamper proof to the extreme - only one door, no windows, wall-to-wall steel. Even the cot was made of metal, and the chamber pot in the corner was nothing more than a well in the floor with a drain. The cuffs were the worst part - Force inhibitors of the worst kind, the ones they used on M'Bardi to keep Force-sensitive prisoners from escaping. Needless to say, M'Bardi wasn't known for its humane detention practices, and after only a few days wearing them Obi-Wan felt himself edging the line of hysteria. Meditation helped somewhat, but the low-grade sense of panic was always there - and the cuffs themselves were painful, cutting into his skin with every movement. His wrists were tacky with half-dried blood, and he worried about infection. Nutrient packs, they might spare, but bacta? Antibiotics? The Separatists were starving for resources; this was well-known. Illness would surely kill Obi-Wan before Dooku did, at this rate. 

Obi-Wan had been in captivity for four days, but he was losing track of time. He couldn't be sure that was accurate - with his connection to the Force so painfully cut off, he was losing sense of himself. Dooku came to interrogate him sporadically, which quickly became the only way he had of judging how much time had passed. For all he knew, he could've been there for weeks. Months, even. 

And surely Dooku was monitoring his thoughts. He was always the most observant of all the senior Jedi Knights - and now, as a Sith lord, his observation had turned sharp and cruel. It was all Obi-Wan could manage to keep himself contained, his thoughts organized. He spent most of his waking hours in meditation - determinedly thinking of nothing but the imaginary candle flame in his mind's eye. Dooku became more and more frustrated, and visibly so, the longer Obi-Wan managed to keep him at bay. 

"You cannot withstand these conditions forever, Obi-Wan," Dooku said. His favored method was the comm system that piped into Obi-Wan's cell - probably lounging in comfort somewhere, watching Obi-Wan on a video feed. He hadn't seen much of the complex before he'd been captured, but Bail Organa's intelligence had been fairly thorough. The droid manufacturing was confined to the subterranean levels; the upper floors were all living quarters, and luxurious ones at that. What little resources the Separatist council did have, they allocated to their richest members, of course. "How long do you have before your wounds become infected? You are right to assume that we have no medical supplies to spare."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, ordering his thoughts once more. _There is no emotion, there is only peace._

"Foolishness," came Dooku's dismissive voice. "Jedi think that by saying it over and over to themselves, such a thing becomes truth. Are you not a human? Do you not feel things, Obi-Wan?" His voice seemed to echo, bouncing off the metal walls, inescapable. "The Sith know that emotion is what makes us strong - what makes us _alive._ The Force thrives on emotion, Obi-Wan! Emotion drives it, makes it stronger! We do not claim to be above it, by suppressing it out of fear of our own nature."

The words were not particularly tempting. Obi-Wan let some of his boredom show on his face, despite his better judgment. 

Dooku's chuckle sounded even more menacing over a comm than it did in person; the years since he left the Jedi had not been kind to him physically. Obi-Wan had been shocked at his appearance: his hair completely white, his body cramped and bent over, looking years older than he was. Whatever had happened to him - whatever training he'd been put through, beneath the heel of the mysterious Sith Master he served - had weakened him considerably. The comm shielded this though - gave him the illusion of youth and strength, which was another reason why he probably favored it. 

"You will change your mind, Obi-Wan," he said. "Always a smart pupil. I saw the potential in you long before Qui Gon Jinn did. I myself offered to train you, should Qui Gon fail to rid himself of his stubborn pride."

A chill raced down Obi-Wan's spine at the thought. Dooku - his Master? The thought was repugnant. 

"I could have taught you a great many things that Qui Gon was too cowardly to face," Dooku continued. "I still have much to teach you now. There is much more to learn of the Force than what the Jedi are willing to admit. So much potential - it doesn't need to be a war between our two sides. You could stop this conflict before it even begins. You could save your loved ones from harm - heal your Master's injuries, protect your beloved from danger - "

Obi-Wan stiffened, despite himself. Dooku laughed again. 

"She is written all over your mind, Obi-Wan," Dooku said. "Did you think you could hide her from me? You are an open book, mine to read at my leisure."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes again, forcing himself to relax. He was sitting in a wide open field, looking at nothing but a candle flame. There was no emotion, no past or present or future. There was only that moment - only his breath, in and out. 

"Even now, she is exposed," Dooku said, threateningly nonchalant. "An explosion six days ago claimed the life of her closest servant. She addresses the Senate today, still foolishly opposed to the Military Creation Act. She thinks it was an attempt to silence her, to intimidate her into changing her position. She plays right into their hands."

Obi-Wan breathed deeply, trying to listen without thought. Trying not to react, but he couldn't help himself. _Cordé or Sabé,_ he thought desperately, in the smallest corner of his mind. 

"What you know now may save her," Dooku said. "Say the word, Obi-Wan. Work with me, not against me, and we can find a compromise that will ensure a bright future for _all_ of us - Republican and Separatist alike."

"A bright future?" Obi-Wan replied, finally breaking his silence. His wrists were sharp with pain, and the candle flame was getting harder and harder to see. "You declared war the moment you joined forces with the Trade Federation, Dooku. You may have seduced some of these systems with the promise of peace, but what can you offer them, outside of the Republic's borders? You can't even feed your own servants."

"I offer them freedom from tyranny!" Dooku roared. "You know as well as I do how corrupt the Republic has become - the infrastructure that crumbles beneath the weight of its own bureaucracy - "

"And so the alternative is your Confederacy?" Obi-Wan asked incredulously. "The Trade Federation built its empire on violence and manipulation - stealing, hoarding resources, and bullying small systems with blockades and intimidation tactics - not to mention the lobbying, the bribes - the worst example of galactic capitalism. Now it joins forces with the Corporate Alliance, and funds these droid factories for you while maintaining its illusion of neutrality in the Senate - manipulating from both ends as it has always done - "

"The Republic's draconian tax laws strangle business interests large and small," Dooku snapped, "free trade is a foundational bedrock of democracy - "

"Spare me the propaganda," Obi-Wan snapped, his patience wearing thin. "You offer them nothing better. Just a different system of oppression, dressed up in the language of freedom. Most see this, Dooku - Nute Gunray is not nearly as good of an actor as he thinks he is. Your grace period is running out. Why else would you hold me captive like this? The Council knows where I am. Eventually they will tell the Senate, and all your polite fictions will collapse."

"A negotiation offered in good faith," Dooku said sullenly. "How could we have known that you would come armed? You betrayed the terms of our meeting by sneaking into our facility - destroying our equipment, stealing intelligence - "

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. "I think I shall go back to meditation now," he said. "It seems much more productive than this conversation."

"And what of your Senator?" Dooku said, smugly cruel. "Many eyes are upon her, Obi-Wan. She has been an enemy of the Trade Federation for half her life, and now she stands boldly in front of them, waving a lit fuse."

Obi-Wan kept his mouth firmly shut, closing his eyes again. He would not think of the possibilities. To dwell on anxieties would only push him towards fear and helpless anger. 

Dooku laughed. "Ever the optimist. So stoic, so sure of your teachings. Do you not doubt, Obi-Wan? Jedi do so love to torture themselves."

You would know, Obi-Wan thought grimly. You tortured yourself right into the hands of a Sith. 

"Oh, don't feel sorry for me, Obi-Wan," Dooku said. "I made my choices with wide open eyes. Tell me - can you say the same?"

Obi-Wan didn't reply, and the faint buzzing from the open comm system abruptly cut off. Apparently Dooku thought that was an effective thought to leave him with. 

His options were limited, to say the least, but Obi-Wan had known on some level that this would be the outcome. The offer from Dooku's Separatist Council had come through official - albeit subtle - channels, and had they rejected it, the offer would have gone to someone in the Senate instead - someone who would go charging in without care, most likely. With fevers on both sides as high as they were - it really didn't matter what they did. Something was bound to give, eventually.

"At least this way I'll have the opportunity to gather intelligence," Obi-Wan had argued, knowing that the High Council had already decided to agree with him. It was Plo Koon he needed to convince - the Council of Reconciliation had grown overcautious in response to the heightening tensions. Too cautious, in Obi-Wan's opinion. "Either way, they'll find a way to use this as an excuse to commit violence. War is upon us, my friends, and the clone army has tied our hands."

"A clone army that as of now, is still secret," argued Oppo Rancisis. "If not for Qui Gon's discovery of the discrepancy in our own historical records, the army would still remain undiscovered."

"A fact we still have not shared with the Senate," Plo Koon said. "Should they discover that we withheld this information - "

"It's only been three days," Obi-Wan interrupted. 

"Still," Plo insisted, shaking their head. Their mandibles clicked with irritation as they leaned in to the circle. "The very existence of this army can be traced back to the Jedi, and it makes the current legislation on the floor obsolete at best - embarrassing and insulting at worst. Should they come to the conclusion that we have been preparing for war all these years while _pretending_ to advocate for peace on the Senate floor - "

"The army was not created on our orders," Obi-Wan argued. "Sifo-Dyas died two years before the Kaminoans were commissioned to create the army. We have evidence of this - we can prove it to be true, that his actions were unsanctioned - "

"That doesn't matter, Obi-Wan!" Plo argued. "Master Sifo-Dyas was a senior member of the High Council - well respected. His name is on the Kaminoan contracts. The money came from his holdings. And for that matter - the only evidence we have of his death comes from Count Dooku, the very man who now calls himself _Darth Tyranus!_ " Their voice echoed in the ambient chamber, causing several council members to shrink back into their seats. Yoda's holographic image - light years away, at the Temple of Ossus - even seemed to flicker in response. "For all we know he's still alive, and in service to the Separatists!"

"Know this, we do not," Yoda said, his first contribution to the conversation. There in a ceremonial capacity as the Grand Master, Yoda had no actual authority on the Council of Reconciliation, and often stayed silent for the entirety of these meetings - to Obi-Wan's great frustration. "No reason we have to distrust the truth of Dooku's account, hm?"

"He had not yet fallen, at the time of Sifo-Dyas's death," Oppo agreed quietly. 

"So you say," Plo said, sounding frustrated.

"What do you wish us to do, Master Koon?" Mace chimed in. "Tell the Senate about the army? It would have the same effect. Knight Kenobi is correct - war is upon us, no matter which action we take. Our task now is to mitigate the damage as much as we can."

"At the very least, we will save ourselves from suspicion," Plo argued. "To preserve our standing in this Republic, we must hold ourselves to the highest standards of honesty and integrity."

"I am not arguing that we should lie," Obi-Wan said incredulously. "Of course they're going to find out eventually, one way or another! But we are being _manipulated,_ Master Koon - do you not see it? Whether it was Sifo-Dyas himself that commissioned this army or not - its very existence backs us into a corner! I advise caution first, so that we do not make the situation worse!"

"Manipulated by who?" Plo snapped.

"Isn't it obvious?" Mace asked. "Dooku's master. The Sith we still have not identified - the one who trained Darth Maul."

"Sith come in pairs," Plo said. "The obvious conclusion is that _Dooku_ is the Master - he certainly has the knowledge, and he's told us himself - "

"For that to be true, he would have had to have fallen to the Dark Side years before he officially left the Jedi," said Oppo. He sounded stiff and formal, and next to him sat Ki-Adi-Mundi, similarly taciturn. Both of them had been close to Dooku before his fall. "Darth Maul was trained in the Dark Side from infancy. I simply cannot believe that Dooku was able to fool us for so long. We would have sensed it."

A heavy silence fell over the council chamber. Dooku's defection had been a heavy blow - the first of many. Obi-Wan had been very young at the time, but even he remembered the grim cloud that descended over the Temple in the weeks after the announcement. 

"There is another," Yoda said definitively. "Know little, we do. Jump to conclusions, we mustn't."

"Which is why," Obi-Wan concluded, "I should go." He grimaced. "If nothing else, let it be me who takes the blame instead of some poor Junior Senator who doesn't know what he's getting into. You saw those names on the invitation. Dooku was blackmailing us - threatening to offer this to one of the young Senators from Hargeeva instead."

Plo Koon simply sighed, their rancor suddenly gone. "Another manipulation," they said. 

"But do we have a better option?" Obi-Wan asked rhetorically. The silence that echoed in the chamber had been grim. 

It was a risk, to be sure. Obi-Wan had to believe it was worth it, however - they knew virtually nothing. Like fighting a battle in the dark - they were swinging blindly, hoping against hope that they were aiming their sabers in the right direction. The hope was that Obi-Wan would be able to discover something, sense something - and of all the Knights on the Council of Reconciliation, Obi-Wan was the youngest, the healthiest, and the most skilled in combat - save for Mace, of course, who was still recovering from an injury sustained during a border skirmish on Anison.

No one in the Senate had been informed save for Bail Organa, who served as the current chairman of the Committee of Intelligence, which had been tasked with gathering information on the Separatist threat by the Chancellor. Bail was also the only Senate member who knew of the clone army's existence - thus far. 

"Padmé's going to be devastated," Bail had said, sinking heavily into his seat. Obi-Wan stood stoically at the office's entrance, his focus more on the hallways and corridors outside then on the man in front of him - paranoid as he was about prying ears of aides or assistants. "All her work - it was for nothing."

"You are the main supporter of the Military Creation Act," Obi-Wan said, faintly incredulous. He tried not to take sides in Senate matters for his own sake, but it was difficult not to when it came to issues that were so close to Padmé's heart. Obi-Wan was often the one to listen when she'd vent her frustrations, after all. "I had expected you to be relieved by this news, quite frankly."

"I supported Military Creation not out of principle, but pragmatism," Bail said, a light undertone of admonishment in his voice. "You know as well as I do that this war has been inevitable for a long time."

"The existence of an army almost guarantees it," Obi-Wan agreed, thinking of Padmé. She would indeed be devastated. He was guiltily relieved that he was prohibited from briefing her of any of this - including the destination and purpose of his mission to Geonosis. 

Having refused a seat on the Intelligence Committee due to her opposition to a military, informing her would have actually complicated her position - another thing for Obi-Wan to feel guilty and relieved about. But sitting in his cell deep underground in the lowest levels of Count Dooku's droid factory, Obi-Wan found himself regretting it. Should he die here - a possibility that was looking more and more likely, with each passing day - she would have no idea of the true circumstances that brought him here. Dooku would use every tool at his disposal to turn his death into a propaganda tactic - falsified video footage, fake mission reports, even outright lies - to make it seem as if Obi-Wan had been sent here on an espionage mission, thus violating the terms of the detente agreement between the Separatists and the Republic. His very presence here was an act of aggression, they would claim - killing him was an act of self-defense. Look at the information he stole, they would say. His friendship with Bail Organa, warmonger of the Senate. His involvement in the Occupation of Naboo, his actions supporting the loyalists on Antar 4. _The Republic was determined to keep us enslaved by any means necessary,_ Dooku would say. _Look at how long they've been planning it - an army isn't created overnight!_

His death would be the spark that finally ignited the war - and Obi-Wan realized with a sinking heart that Padmé would have every reason to believe it. 

A trap, from the beginning. Of course they knew it would be - but it was Obi-Wan's failure that brought him to his current situation. If he'd been able to evade capture…

But who could have predicted a...creature like the droid general he'd encountered? Half machine, half Sith...Obi-Wan was still having trouble wrapping his mind around its - his? - existence.

 _Padmé._ Obi-Wan was trying not to think of her too often - it was too painful - but his thoughts strayed to her often regardless. He wished he could see the sky - that he could spend these hours searching for Sola's moon instead of going in circles with himself, soaking in his regrets. Was it Cordé or Sabé? The question bit with sharp teeth, sneaking up on him every time he thought he'd suppressed it. He knew it was true - if Dooku had wanted to devastate him with lies, he would've told him that it was Padmé who'd been killed, but instead - he simply taunted Obi-Wan with half of the truth. _Cordé or Sabé?_ Either answer was devastating enough. Obi-Wan had known both of them for as long as he'd known Padmé, and loved them both for their own sakes. Sabé - wise and stoic, with the sharp mind of a warrior, always practical, innovative in her thinking, doggedly loyal to her principles. And little Cordé - bright and optimistic, took herself too seriously, and allowed her ambition to cloud out everything else - but oh, how she could make him laugh. Cordé could make _anyone_ laugh. 

Obi-Wan knew he could not dwell. He _had_ to keep his mind clear - it was more important than ever. But without the comforting presence of the Force, he found himself slipping into dark thoughts more and more. He had never gone this long without it. He felt as if he were dying - as if it were as inevitable as the war that they all foolishly thought they could prevent. 

He was running out of time - that much was clear. For the first time in his life, Obi-Wan could do nothing but pray. 

The mood in the Skywalker apartments was morose, but Qui Gon was well used to it. Shmi had settled into her life of freedom by growing more and more melancholic, especially as Anakin grew older and more independent. Qui Gon had urged her many times over the years to find work outside of the Senate - hobbies, friends, something of her own - but Shmi was as stubborn as her son, and set in her ways besides.

"What would I do?" she'd always ask, largely rhetorically. "The only work I could find outside the Chancellor's office would be washing dishes, cleaning apartments. And I'll die before I do any of that again, for anyone other than myself."

Qui Gon respected that, at least. As with many things in his life since his injury, he saw quite clearly how the situation unraveled, but how to change it, and make it better? That still remained a mystery. 

"Do you think she's right, Master?" Ani fretted. He had a tendency towards anxiety, which Qui Gon had tried hard to contain. But unlike Obi-Wan, Anakin found controlling his emotions extremely difficult. He also tended to take it personally whenever Qui Gon would try to admonish or correct him in that area, which meant that Qui Gon had to tread very, very lightly. "I've always known that she was pretty traditional, politically speaking, but - I've never heard her speak so harshly about the Chancellor before."

"Mind your stance, Ani," Qui Gon said, and the boy instantly snapped back to attention, falling back into the formal Shii-Cho pose. The training droid changed position in response, and Ani shifted gracefully into a defensive position despite the blindfold, anticipating the low-grade energy beam and deflecting it with his training saber. "She was upset today, remember. Cordé was a very dear friend. You shouldn't hold her words against her."

"She meant them," Ani insisted, blocking another energy beam. The droid sent another one almost instantaneously after the first and he blocked that too, almost lazily. Qui Gon continued to be amazed at the boy's instinctive talent - even with the sporadic training that Qui Gon was able to provide in secret, he was still miles ahead of some of the Jedi apprentices at the Temple who'd been studying for nearly their entire lives. "She visited him formally this morning - it was on his public schedule and everything. They argued about her speech - she doesn't want to delay it."

"She feels that Cordé's death would be in vain if she doesn't successfully accomplish her objective," Qui Gon said gently. "She may be right about this mysterious assassin's motivations, Ani. It does seem tailored to intimidate her into changing her position on Military Creation."

Ani scoffed, blocking two more beams with a quick twist of his wrist. "All the more reason we need an army. If the Separatists are bold enough to kill a Senator's servant right in the heart of the capital - "

"Cordé was not a servant," Qui Gon said sharply. "She was a handmaiden, Ani. Show her the respect she deserves - she lost her life in the line of duty not even a week ago."

Ani dipped his chin, admonished. "Handmaiden," he corrected obediently. "But still. We're talking about the same beings who invaded her planet and almost destroyed her people ten years ago! I can't understand why she doesn't see the reality of what's about to come."

"I'm almost certain that she does," Qui Gon replied, watching keenly as Anakin blocked three more beams before falling into an offensive stance and striking the droid directly at the heart. He's been practicing, Qui Gon could tell. "But that does not mean it is foolish for her to try and prevent it. If we only hold to our principles in times of peace, then what good were they in the first place?"

"I guess," Anakin said sullenly, falling out of stance and sliding off the blindfold. He turned the droid off with a gentle wave of his hand. "It just seems like wasted energy to me. Everyone knows there'll be a war. The Chancellor told me that system leaders come to him privately all the time, asking for advice on how to prepare. The Outer Rim planets are already hoarding supplies in preparation."

"The Chancellor has his own interests in this conversation," Qui Gon reminded him. "And I did not say that you could stop. Or do you decide on your own when you're finished training?"

Anakin gave him a rebellious look. "I have work to do. Prep work for tomorrow's Senate session."

"If that's more important," Qui Gon said neutrally, "then perhaps I should take my leave for tonight."

Ani sighed and slid his blindfold back on. His training saber lit up with a single thought. 

"You must work on empathy, Ani," Qui Gon said. He shifted a little in his meditational crouch; his knee was starting to pain him again. It would be a long night, should he spend anymore time on Shmi's hard - albeit very well taken care of - kitchen floor. "Each being you encounter sees the universe an entirely different way from you, and there may be much that you do not know. It is not so easy to ask someone to abandon a belief they hold strongly just because it is logical."

Ani scowled slightly, but didn't respond. He blocked another three blasts from the training droid with easy swings of his saber. 

"It is a Jedi's greatest ally," he continued. He made sure to keep his voice as neutral as possible. "It is what keeps us safe from the Sith - our kindness, our compassion. Even for those we disagree with." Qui Gon considered for a moment. _"Especially_ those we disagree with."

"Even those who would kill us, given the chance?" Ani challenged. He swung forward with his saber and struck the droid directly, ending the simulation and effectively winning the game. The droid powered down with a weak, low-pitched tone, and lowered gently to the floor. 

"Especially then," Qui Gon said. "Ani, our powers do not make us smarter or more deserving than others. All they do is open us to more dangers. It's our responsibility to use them wisely - never in anger, never in judgment. It is not our place. We serve the Force above all else."

"Isn't that what the Jedi _do_ , though?" Ani asked impatiently. When he pushed the visor up, revealing his eyes, his face was stubbornly set. "You go on missions all over the galaxy, keeping peace. But more often than not - you're fighting battles. Preventing war by waging it, right? That's what the Chancellor calls it."

Qui Gon bit the inside of his cheek for a second, before he replied. "We serve the Republic," he said simply, "and we live in dangerous times. It's often unavoidable, Anakin, but we still do not punish the guilty, or use our powers for selfish reasons."

"Which leads to inaction," Anakin concluded. "You have the power to right wrongs, and yet you do nothing because you believe it would make you arrogant?"

"Because it is not our place," Qui Gon replied. Ever since his promotion at the Chancellor's office, Anakin had been arguing more and more - challenging Qui Gon in a way that Obi Wan never dared to. It reminded him of Xanatos, which was an uncomfortable realization to have. "We serve a democracy - and that means no one being makes a decision alone. We are at the will of the people - that is how we protect our society against despotism."

"And yet," Anakin said, cleanly articulate, "you defy the Council - the so-called 'democracy' you serve - every time you meet with me for training."

Qui Gon sighed. 

"Eight years now, you've been defying their edict not to train me," Anakin said, his jaw held out stubbornly. "And if you really believed it was the right thing, then why do you ask me to lie?"

"Now, you are twisting my words," Qui Gon said, biting back the anger that arose at the insolent tone. "You cannot win an argument by changing the parameters, Anakin."

"How am I - never mind," Anakin said, visibly frustrated. He thrust the lightsaber at Qui Gon rudely. "I really have to go now, Master. I hope you understand." His voice was clipped and overly polite. 

Qui Gon took the saber silently, watching in disapproval as Anakin spun on one heel and turned to start packing up the droid, anger clear in his movements. "You must meditate before you do anything else."

Anakin's shoulders tightened, but he did not respond. 

"If you are ever going to master your emotions, then you _must_ learn control," Qui Gon continued, painfully aware that he was repeating words he'd said to Ani a hundred times. "Focus on your turmoil. Release it to the Force tonight. You must stay in meditation until you succeed - this is _vital,_ Ani."

Anakin mumbled something inaudible, snapping the droid's case shut. 

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said that Chancellor Palpatine says that emotion makes us who we are," Ani said defiantly, turning to face Qui Gon once more. "He says that without passion and ambition, our lives would be empty."

"A politician's view of the world," Qui Gon said. He reached for his cane, fumbling a bit as he stood up - his knee stiff from saying in the same position for so long. There were times when Qui Gon wondered if he would feel less pain every day, had they been forced to amputate _both_ legs all those years ago. An indulgent thought - but it came to him more and more often, lately. "You should be mindful that the Chancellor is an ambitious man himself. He has plans for you that serve his own ends, not necessarily yours."

"He's not the only one," Anakin said darkly. He didn't give Qui Gon a chance to reply. "You're right, though. He is an ambitious man; I forget that sometimes. All politicians are. Including Padmé." He smiled bitterly, an expression which looked out of place on his young face. "I should do better about remembering that."

"That is...not quite the lesson I was trying to teach you, Ani," Qui Gon said with a wince. He stepped forward and laid one hand on Anakin's shoulder, waiting until Ani looked up and met his solemn gaze. "You are a very bright young man. Do not think that I don't know that."

"I know," Anakin mumbled. 

"I simply worry for you," Qui Gon said. "I teach you these things because you need to know them - your powers are strong beyond your abilities to control them on your own, and as I said - we live in dangerous times. But I am not truly your Master, no matter how you address me." He frowned. "I am no one's Master, anymore."

The stubborn, lingering anger finally faded from Anakin's expression. "I'm sure Obi-Wan is alright," he said earnestly. 

"Yes," Qui Gon said, surprised to hear his own voice break slightly. He cleared his throat. "Yes."

It was becoming more and more difficult to release his worries for his former student by the day - worry that he saw reflected on the faces of the Council members as they passed each other in the Temple's cavernous hallways. They could do nothing to save Obi-Wan at this point, however - sending a rescue party would all but admit to their subterfuge, and contribute to the story Dooku was sure to tell: that a Jedi broke the truce, and started the war. They couldn't afford for that to happen. Millions of lives were on the line, and Obi-Wan would no doubt agree with them in that decision. 

He was on his own. 

"There was another reason I asked you over tonight, Master," Ani said, ducking his chin in a gesture reminiscent of his childhood. Qui Gon remembered vividly the years when Anakin was still too timid to truly argue back - his stubbornness had shown itself in other ways, then. "I had another one of the dreams last night."

"Your mother again?" Qui Gon asked carefully. For years, Anakin had been having dreams of his mother in pain or dying - which Qui Gon was sure were more a product of the boy's anxiety than of his Force abilities. 

"No." Ani shook his head. "The other one. Padmé and Obi-Wan on Tatooine."

Qui Gon thought carefully about his reply before he gave it. "The future holds many different possibilities, Ani," he said. "This specific future that you see - perhaps it is much _more_ likely than any of the others. But that doesn't necessarily mean that it is set in stone."

"But they - " Ani wisely cut himself off, before the emotional response could undercut his credibility. Qui Gon bit back a smile when he forged ahead anyway, only slightly calmer than before. "They were being _executed,_ Master. By Separatist soldiers!"

"You can't know the specific context from a short sequence of images," Qui Gon argued calmly. "It could be anything - mean anything."

"They had armor," Ani said firmly. "Dark uniforms, with guns that only Separatists use. There were armed droids there, too. And Padmé and Obi-Wan were clearly in hiding - they were dressed differently, and they looked older. Obi-Wan's beard was grey." Anakin grimaced, distress clear in his face. He'd never quite grown close to Obi-Wan - certainly not as close as he was to Qui Gon, or the combative, sibling-like relationship he'd developed with Padmé - but he clearly admired the Jedi Knight, with a sort of awe that sometimes hinged on hero worship. "What else could it be but a warning? If the Separatists win - "

"We are not at war yet, Ani."

"I have others, too," Ani continued stubbornly. "The one on Tatooine comes most often, but there are others. Padmé, you, my mother, Palpatine...the other Jedi...there's one I see, of the Temple on fire. People screaming in the streets…" Ani's young face looked strained, almost haunted. "Why else would I be having these visions, if I'm not meant to do something about them? What else could they be trying to tell me?"

"Nothing," Qui Gon said, reaching out to rest his hand on Ani's shoulder. The boy sagged a little beneath the weight. "Anakin, you are extraordinarily powerful in the Unifying Force. The ability to control these visions is within your grasp. You worry about the outcome of this war, and so that is what you see - the possibilities that your mind dwells on already."

Anakin looked skeptical. "But Master - "

"No. Anakin, listen to me." Qui Gon tightened his grip on Anakin's shoulder. "Above all else, you must be _skeptical._ The future is not a fixed thing - it changes every second, affected by every choice we make. Seeing what you see affects it too - we must be extremely cautious when we act upon what the Force shows us, lest we bring about what we are afraid of with our own actions."

"You mean, by trying to prevent it, I might actually cause it?" Anakin still looked skeptical, but at least he was listening. 

"Something like that," Qui Gon said. He sighed. "When you have a vision of the present - something the Force wishes you to see for a reason - you will be able to tell the difference. Trust me," he finished darkly, thinking of Obi-Wan again, of having this same conversation some fifteen years before. _Be skeptical, my apprentice. When the Living Force and the Unifying Force align to guide you towards a certain path, you will know._ "Trust your instincts. Be cautious and mindful of what you may not know. This is the best advice I can give you, Ani. I beg you to listen."

Anakin looked somewhat shaken by his insistence. "I will try, Master."

Qui Gon squeezed his shoulder. "Good," he said, not quite relieved - but something close to it, he supposed. It was the best he could hope for. "Good."

"Will you promise me something though?" Anakin pushed, his eyes wide and imploring. "If...if I should have a vision like that...where I'm positive that it _is_ the Force telling me to do something…"

"Yes," Qui Gon said patiently. 

"Will you help me?" Anakin asked. "Because I think I'm going to have one. I can feel it coming." His eyes went somewhat distant. "I've been thinking about Obi-Wan, you know...he's in trouble. I can feel it. And every vision I've had since he disappeared has been about him in some way...if I figure out where he is, will you come with me to save him?"

Qui Gon struggled with himself for a moment. The way he'd phrased it made it clear that Anakin would act with or without his approval; he could hardly say anything to change his mind now. Painted into a corner at every turn, Qui Gon thought wryly. No way out but the way in front of you. "Of course I will, Anakin."

"Good," Ani said, his expression melting into a satisfied smile. "Because I think I'm ready, Master. And I don't think he has much time left."

Qui Gon found he didn't have a single thing to say to that. 

Back at the Temple, Qui Gon retired to his chambers early - a not uncommon occurrence, in the past few weeks. They'd lost two more Knights the month before to the skirmish on Anison, and most of the older Apprentices had been moved to the Temple in Jedha. Ostensibly, it was because the facilities there were larger, and the initiates in Jedha City were more equipped to train young ones than the Masters at the Temple, as distracted as they were by politics...but everyone knew the real reason was their safety. There'd been discussion of moving the younglings, too - but in the end, the sentiment was that the most vulnerable among them would be safer tucked away in the heart of the Temple on Coruscant, guarded as they were by the Jedi's most capable Knights. 

The mood was grim, and the hallways were silent more often than not. In Qui Gon's youth, the Temple was a place bursting with life - younglings chattering as they walked from class to class, Knights dining together, sharing laughter and companionship. The meditation gardens were always full, the flowers were always in bloom. The stream that trickled through the heart of the Temple was always cool and sweet-smelling, and even Grandmaster Yoda himself would pad through it in his bare feet, cackling to himself as he tracked wet footprints into the Council chambers for meetings. The Jedi as a whole had a reputation for gentle mischief - one of Qui Gon's earliest memories was of watching his Master perform a card trick to the delight of a small crowd of Senators, winking at Qui Gon as soon as their backs were turned. The missions the Knights were sent on were diplomatic ones - trade disputes, dilemmas of royal lineage or muddled election results. They were truly peacekeepers, back in those days. 

Where had it gone wrong? Qui Gon wasn't sure there was a simple answer. The Master he remembered was kind and wise, always gentle with his criticisms, but firm in his principles. That man was a stranger to Qui Gon now - the man Dooku had become was unrecognizable. Was it their discipline, that was lacking? Xanatos had been the first to turn, but not the last - was their training truly too harsh, as some in the Senate said? Qui Gon had his own opinions of the process, and he still carried bitterness from the Council's decision regarding Anakin - but even he could still see the logic. Anakin _had_ been an emotional child. And his attachment to his mother was forged in desperate, traumatic circumstances - which affected everything about how Ani viewed the world. It wasn't that he was too young, Qui Gon knew - that was just the excuse. They were afraid of him, and that was the truth. 

Qui Gon wasn't as sure as he had been, all those years ago when he'd stubbornly defied the Council's edict. He'd turned up on the Skywalkers's doorstep not even a year after the Battle of Naboo, offering to train Anakin in secret. He'd been emotional himself - he could admit that now. His injury had grounded him from active duty, and his work at the Temple was boring - necessary and important, but still boring. He resented the Council for the decision, for not seeing what seemed to clear to him: that Anakin was the child of the prophecy, that the sheer breadth of his strength made the decision a moot point. He was _going_ to learn how to use his powers - surely they should at least try and guide him in the right way? Surely Qui Gon was following the will of the Force, when he worked against their orders in secret?

Now, he wasn't so sure. He wasn't sure of anything anymore - Obi-Wan was gone, most likely dead, Dooku was lost, and the Temple was a living corpse - the gardens were dying, the streams dried up, their numbers diminished severely. The laughter was gone, and Anakin grew more strident every day - his temper was a terrifying thing, his loyalty to Palpatine was almost obsessive. If the Council found out that he'd trained Anakin at all - God forbid if something happened, if Anakin lost control and did something - Qui Gon would be expelled from the Jedi, most likely, and rightfully so. What had seemed so clear to him years before now seemed inexplicable - as if he'd been walking through a fog for most of his life, and never realizing it until now. 

Had it been the Force, that had led him to Tatooine, and Anakin Skywalker? Qui Gon still believed it was so. There were no coincidences in a Jedi's life. But _why,_ was the question Qui Gon asked himself now. Was it because Anakin truly was the Chosen One, meant to lead the Jedi into a new era of peace and balance? Or was it simply because he was a young boy who needed help, who deserved better? Was it the Force he'd been listening to, or his own ego? Qui Gon was asking himself hard questions, now that he was too old and too hurt to do anything else, and he didn't like the answers. 

What was done was done - Qui Gon knew this. He could not change the past - only his actions now. He could still try to help Anakin gain control over his temper and his anxiety - still guide him towards a more balanced view of the world. He could do his duty to the best of his ability, try and live up to the regard that Obi-Wan held for him, despite everything. There was no other choice.

It was difficult not to feel as if his efforts were fruitless, but that sort of thinking led to despair. And they truly had no room for that - not if they were going to survive what was coming. 

III.

Sabé had no particular quarrel with Master Va Zhurro, other than the fact that he was not the Jedi Master she wished to greet every morning when she woke up. Obi-Wan's presence in her lady's apartments was sporadic at best, but even so - they'd all grown used to him being there, among their fine-tuned, well-organized world. Certainly none of them begrudged the Senator her happiness, and Obi-Wan himself had a calming influence on everyone around him. In Sabé's opinion, Padmé could have done much worse, in terms of partners. 

It was a complex situation - but handmaidens were trained to be discreet, and Padmé and Obi-Wan's secret was quite safe behind the doors of the senatorial apartments. Sabé didn't claim to know as much about the intricacies of Jedi culture as Padmé did, but she understood that long term romantic relationships were frowned upon, in some way. What the consequences would be for Obi-Wan, should they be exposed, Sabé didn't know - at times he seemed almost casual about it, unconcerned with keeping the secret. But then again, Sabé didn't know him as well as Padmé did. 

The consequences for her lady, Sabé knew better - to be involved with a Jedi would be political suicide on several levels. Accusations of bias, some sort of censure from the Chancellor was almost certain - and while Padmé would probably hold onto her seat in the next election - her popularity on Naboo was still unbeatable, and the Jedi were regarded as heroes due to their assistance in the Occupation - her authority in the Senate would be cut off at the knees. The Jedi were not popular anymore - if they ever truly were. 

As far as Sabé herself was concerned - she believed the Jedi to be what they claimed they were: peacekeepers. Students of the Force - dedicated to compassion and the preservation of democracy. This as much she could see, from the Council's actions, and those of the Knights she'd met. The mistake, she believed, was allowing themselves to become so embroiled with politics at all. They should never have installed a Temple on the capital planet, she thought. Never let themselves become direct servants to the Senate. Institutions are only as good as the people within them - they can become corrupt, overburdened, ineffective. By tying themselves so firmly to the Republic, the Jedi doomed themselves to the same problems. 

"An interesting perspective," Va Zhurro said. He was not unlike Obi-Wan in demeanor, although they couldn't be more far apart in appearance: Zhurro was Zabrak, with five horns that circled his head like a crown. His hair was thin and black, pulled back into the traditional Jedi braid - although Sabé was told this was unusual, for a Master - and his facial markings stood out brilliantly - bright white on his dark blue skin. "Tell me, Madam Sabé - what do you see as an alternative?"

"Well, there's no alternative now," Sabé said. "If the Jedi were to withdraw from the Republic now, it would be seen as abandonment - throwing your lot in with the Separatists, even if your actions proved otherwise. Propaganda is a powerful tool that the Jedi refuse to use."

"There are quite a few Jedi who would agree with you on that point," Zhurro replied. He had the outward appearance of a being engaged in casual conversation - sitting on the couch, his hands folded on one knee - but Sabé was trained as a warrior herself, she could sense the coiled tension in his body. His gaze kept returning to the Senator's closed bedroom door every few seconds as well, without fail. "Master Yoda's leadership has always prioritized the safety of our Knights and initiates over public perception. We employed secrecy as a tactic, so to limit casualties on missions. Perhaps we are seeing the consequences of that now."

"I would not begrudge you that. I am sure that secrecy allowed you to save many lives, on many missions."

Zhurro inclined his head in acknowledgment. "The bigger picture is hard to see," he said. "We see glimpses of the future, but only glimpses. And they are unreliable. It is every Jedi's constant struggle to find balance between the past and present, the Unifying and the Living Force."

"Knight Kenobi has spoken of the Force in such a way before - as if there is more than one," Sabé said curiously. 

"There are more than two, even!" Zhurro chuckled amiably. "The Force is not one unified voice. It is a great, sprawling thing, that has divots and knots and dark places, just as the universe does. We feed it, make it grow with every breath we take - it's a relationship on even ground, not an invisible hand, pushing us along." 

"So then what is the Dark Side? I thought it was...another type of Force. An evil Force that the Jedi must fight."

"If only it were that simple," Zhurro said, still strangely warm despite the gravity of their conversation. "The Force is neither light nor dark, my dear. It is simply...there. It offers power to those of us who can feel it and interact with it. The Dark Side is within ourselves," he continued. "It is a phrase we use to quantify something that tempts every living being: ego. The urge to win, to possess, to avenge. These are impulses we all have, but when combined with the sheer power of the Force...it can warp you into something you don't recognize. You see, the Force is a beautiful thing - but like every form of power, it can also be deadly. Once you learn how to use it...the only thing that stops you from _mis_ using it is your own discipline. That is the reason a Jedi's training is from créche to coffin: it is about shaping _yourself,_ not the world around you."

"I doubt very much," Sabé said wryly, "that every Jedi thinks of it in such a way."

"Probably not," Zhurro agreed with a laugh. "I am somewhat of an outlier, philosophically speaking. As is Knight Kenobi."

Unsure of how much the other Master knew, Sabé bit back the question she wanted to ask and instead chose the obvious one. "Is there truly still no word of his status?"

"Truly," Zhurro said, his voice growing sad. "It would be a profound loss to the Council, should Knight Kenobi fail to return from his mission."

"A profound loss to all of us," Sabé said quietly, unable to keep her gaze from traveling to Padmé's closed, silent door. What her lady would do, if she lost both Cordé and Obi-Wan in such a short period of time...Sabé didn't want to think about it. "I thank you for your service, Master Zhurro," she said, wrenching her eyes back to the Jedi Master, who was regarding her with what looked like a knowing air - although she could easily be imagining it, his face was hard to read. "It's a great comfort to all of us that you are watching over our Senator. She is sometimes too stubborn for her own good when it comes to her safety."

"I have heard that about Senator Amidala," Zhurro said. "Her role in the Occupation is practically infamous. I can't imagine her security team at the time was in agreeance with her plan."

"They _really_ weren't," Sabé replied, thinking again of Panaka's trademark exasperation, which had only grown louder in the years since. Zhurro laughed. 

"Knight Kenobi has a similar reputation around the Temple, although you didn't hear it from me," He said. "Why, just a few months ago, he - "

Sabé stiffened as the Master broke off mid-sentence, his body going alert with tension. He snapped his head to look at Padmé's door, and in the next moment rose to her feet, startling her slightly with the sudden movement. "What?" she asked, alarmed. "What is it?"

"Stay here," he said, and without another word he was gone - flying across the room, his saber out and lit up in a brilliant blue light before Sabé could even react. 

She needed only a fraction of a second to switch gears; she was already reaching for the panic button inside her robes as she leapt to her feet to run after Zhurro, her mind on her lady's safety. The bedroom doors were slammed open by Zhurro's entrance, one of them having bounced off the wall and swung back shut. Sabé hit it with her palm to open it again, her gun already in her hand - but she needn't have worried. Padmé herself was standing at the foot of her bed, her own blaster in hand, smoking from a recent shot. 

"My lady!" Sabé said. On the bed was the remnants of a droid, in two separate pieces from Padmé's blaster. "Are you alright?"

"Fine, I'm fine," Padmé said though a gasp. She didn't lower her gun, nor did she tear her eyes from the droid on the bed. She was dressed in her nightgown, and her hair was loose around her shoulders, but Sabé was willing to bet that she hadn't actually been sleeping. She hadn't slept a full night through at all since the news about Obi-Wan. "Zhurro - he saved me, there was someone in here - "

Sabé turned and saw that the window was broken, a jagged hole with glass all over the carpet. It looked as if someone had burst through from the outside. Zhurro was nowhere to be seen. "What - did he _jump out?_ "

"Crazy bastard," Padmé said. She finally lowered her blaster and went over to the window, peering out over the edge. "There was someone on a speeder - he went after them. Whoever it was shot through my window - how is that possible, I thought these were blasterproof - "

Sabé could hear Panaka and his men entering the apartment, their boots hitting the floor in a familiar formation. "All clear!" she yelled, to warn them, before joining Padmé at the window. "My lady - come away from the window, it's not safe - we have to get you to the secondary location - "

"No!" Padmé whirled around. "We must go to the Temple. They'll be the first ones to know of Zhurro's report, whatever it may be."

"Lady," Sabé said, trying to bite back her frustration. Panaka's entrance interrupted whatever she might have come up with to say - not that it would've convinced Padmé anyway. 

"My lady! Are you - "

"I'm _fine,_ " Padmé interrupted, her shock visibly transitioning into anger and determination. "There was one assassin with some sort of pulse weapon; the glass was useless against it. The droid had a traditional blaster as well. Master Zhurro is in pursuit of the suspect - I need clothes, I need a new gun - we need to get to the Temple to inform the Council, and I want city security notified, they need to clear the streets within the chase area so no bystanders are hurt - "

"My lady," Panaka said, going along with Padmé's pace as he always had done, "city security forces were notified at the same time we were. Our priority now is your safety - are you injured? Please step out of the room while we secure it - "

"I said I was fine!" Padmé snapped, striding past them into the living room. Her hair flew out behind her angrily, and Sabé followed without a word, exchanging worried glances with Panaka as she passed. 

"Lady, there are clothes in your pack - but we must leave the apartment, it's not secure anymore - "

"I'll change in my own bathroom, thank you!" Padmé said, grabbing her bag. She whirled around. "The Temple, Sabé. That safe house Palpatine set up was on the same surveillance network as this apartment. The assassin has to know about it - they would've had to bypass the motion sensors on the perimeter to get that close, and if they were smart enough to do that, they were smart enough to look at the other addresses on the network!"

"That's...a fair point," Sabé said. Panaka came up behind her, shoulders tense and blaster still drawn. He was scowling deeply as his men formed a line between them and the bedroom, weapons all drawn as well. 

"What happened to the Jedi?" he demanded. 

"He went after the assassin," Padmé said. 

"Out the _window?!_ "

"Crazy bastard," Padmé said again, and stepped into the bathroom right off the living room, slamming the door shut behind her. Sabé winced as she heard glass rattling from the other side of the door; her lady was not exactly delicate with her surroundings when she was upset. 

"The safe house," Panaka began, in an undertone, but Sabé shook her head. 

"The Senator's right. It's now compromised as well," Sabé said. "I don't know why we let the Chancellor talk us into using his resources for this - the old coot probably wants her dead as much as this assassin does."

"Don't think I haven't considered the possibility," Panaka said darkly. He shot a look at the door. "She wants to go to the Temple - fine, it's probably safer there than anywhere else. I'm going after Zhurro."

"Organa can help. He offered use of his security team - and they're independently employed. Beneath Alderaan's purview, not the Senate's."

"Don't you love a planet full of paranoid diplomats?" Panaka asked rhetorically. "I'll get you a speeder. Get her there and don't let her leave."

"Yes," Sabé agreed gravely. On the other side of the door, something shattered. They both winced this time, in unison. 

The trip to the Temple was grimly silent; on an unmarked, unregistered speeder, the windows blackened, Sabé was relying entirely on the computer to navigate, which made her nervous. Padmé didn't say a word for the majority of the trip - dressed hastily in the clothes of a Senatorial aide, an outfit she kept handy for whenever she wanted to go unnoticed, she reminded Sabé of their youth on Naboo - dressing up in merchant clothes so they could spend an afternoon as two regular people, instead of a Queen and her Handmaiden. Her hair was still loose around her shoulders - tangled and uncared for - which deepened the comparison. 

"Are we even allowed to do this?" Sabé finally asked, as they neared the Temple gates. "Just turn up like this?"

"The Jedi offer sanctuary to any who need it," Padmé explained. "It's not uncommon, especially lately. Some of the lower levels have been converted into living quarters for political refugees." She paused. "Many of the current occupants are beings who left Separatist worlds in protest."

Sabé took a moment to digest this. "They'd never turn you away, in any case."

"No." 

Padmé's face was resolute. Knowing her as long as Sabé had - she could see the cracks in the surface of her bravado - her hands shook a little around the handle of her blaster, which she had drawn, resting in her lap as a precaution - and there were deep lines around her eyes which betrayed how fitful her rest had been, these past few weeks. But otherwise she looked like the warrior she was - and for the countless time, Sabé was guiltily relieved that she had lost the regional election to her, all those years ago. But for the grace of a few thousand votes, it could've been Sabé in Padmé's place - and knowing herself as she did, Sabé was certain she was much better suited for the life she led now instead. 

They were greeted at the Temple hangar by two Jedi in dark robes, with blasters at their belts - to Sabé's surprise. Padmé took her hand firmly as they climbed out to meet them, squeezing Sabé's palm as a gesture of solidarity - for both of them, it seemed like. 

"I seek sanctuary," Padmé said in greeting. The two Jedi bowed their heads in response, their palms open and turned up towards the sky. "And an audience with the Council - immediately, if possible. Time is of the essence."

"The Council has already convened, Senator Amidala," one of the Jedi said. She was a tall humanoid - Sabé didn't recognize her species on sight - and her companion was a short, dark-skinned human who had dark glasses on for some reason, even though it was nearly pitch black in the hangar. "They are waiting for you now."

"Thank you," Padmé said, her voice wavering just a little. She squeezed Sabé's hand again, and they stepped forward into the Temple. 

Sabé had been inside the Jedi Temple only once before - years ago, when she accompanied Padmé - who was Queen Amidala then - to Coruscant to appeal to the Senate for assistance. They'd been greeted first by the Jedi Council in a wide, light-filled conference room just inside the wide hangar where they'd parked their cruiser - a room, Sabé later realized, which was designed for exactly that purpose: to greet dignitaries formally, without having to invite them further into the Temple's depths. The room they were being led to now was clearly much more private - Sabé quickly lost track of where they were in relation to the ground hangar. The hallways took twists and turns almost every few feet, and the walls were covered in either intricate markings, sweet-smelling vines, or a sticky-looking type of moss that seemed to almost glow whenever Sabé looked at it. 

They passed at one point a garden that looked like it had fallen into semi-disrepair; the few flowers that Sabé glimpsed were wilted, drooping towards the floor, and a fountain that clearly was once a wonderful sight now produced only a trickle of water. Further on, they were led past rows of what were clearly living quarters - community rooms and gyms, and one great, wide open space that seemed to function as some sort of gathering hall. 

"The Heart of the Temple," said the humanoid Jedi, leading them to a door on the western edge of the empty, eerily quiet space. "We gather here for announcements - funerals. Celebrations."

"Or we used to," echoed the other. It was the first thing Sabé had heard him say at all. 

The humanoid Jedi leaned over a keypad affixed to the side of the door, and as they waited, Sabé took a step closer to Padmé, who was staring up at the impossibly high ceiling. It seemed to reach all the way to the very top floor of the Temple - which was forty stories up, at least. Sabé squinted, but it seemed to go on forever - she couldn't even see where it ended. 

"They don't take guests down here often, I assume," Sabé murmured. Neither Jedi turned to look. 

"No," Padmé whispered back, still transfixed by the sight above their heads. Both women startled a little when the door in front of their Jedi companion opened with a loud, mechanical sound. 

"We will wait outside," the first Jedi said, stepping aside to clear the way. The doorway stood open, revealing another hallway - although now, it was clear there were people on the other side. Sabé could hear the sound of voices, and a light that shone from the other side of a short curve. 

"Thank you," Padmé said formally, and didn't waste anymore time. She tugged at Sabé's hand as she stepped forward, her face determined. As it was what she did best - Sabé steeled her shoulders, and followed. 

There were several Councils that made up the Jedi, Sabé knew. A council that discussed diplomacy and politics, a council for financial concerns, a council that debated philosophy and its applications...there was even a council for discipline, as it was rumored. But as they stepped into a small sitting room of chairs, lit by soft light, Sabé knew: _this_ was the real Jedi Council. These were the beings that made it what it was - and this was the room they _really_ talked in. 

"Senator Amidala," greeted Yoda warmly. He was at the head of the small circle, and he rose as they approached, leaving his cane abandoned against his chair - revealing it to be a fiction in the process. "Relieved I am, to see you safe. Enter, enter. Refreshment, you need?"

"Thank you. No, we're fine." Padmé bowed generously to the Grand Master, and then nodded to the other Council members - several humans, two Togruta females, a Nautolan male, and Cerean Sabé assumed was Ki-Adi-Mundi. She recognized Mace Windu, as well, which surprised her - she hadn't known that he was a High Council member, as prominent as he was. "This is my handmaiden, Sabé Tsabin of Naboo."

"Greetings, Madam Sabé," Yoda said, bowing his head to her as well. Sabé gave her own bow in response. "Welcome, you are. Stay as long as you need, you must."

"I am thankful," Padmé said simply. Two chairs had been provided for them, and Padmé and Sabé sat - completing the circle. The masters were mostly silent, although Sabé noticed them looking at each other frequently, exchanging glances that seemed to be a communication of a sort. Did they have a way of talking without words? Probably. "Since you anticipated our arrival, I assume you know something of what has transpired tonight."

"Yes," Yoda said, who seemed to be the spokesperson for this solemn group. "Report in, Master Zhurro did. But invited you here regardless, would we have. More developments there have been, yes."

"Other developments?" Padmé asked. Sabé sat straight up, the two of them exchanging glances. "We didn't check the holonets before we left - what has happened?"

"It hasn't hit the holonets yet," said Mace Windu, his deep voice somewhat startling, echoing a little in the chamber. "Count Dooku is dead."

"What?" Sabé said, shocked into speech. Padmé looked similarly surprised, one hand half-risen to her mouth. 

"Twelve hours ago," Windu continued, "Qui Gon Jinn commandeered a Temple-owned transport ship without permission. Onboard with him was Anakin Skywalker. They entered in a flight path for Geonosis, which is the Separatist planet where Obi-Wan Kenobi has been held captive for the past two weeks. They used access codes sanctioned by Chancellor Palpatine to pass through the blockade at the edge of Republican territory."

"Anakin...?" Padmé said faintly. She straightened up in alarm. "Obi-Wan was in Dooku's hands, this whole time?"

"Held hostage, he was," Yoda said gravely. "Knew where he was we did, but retrieve him we could not, without starting the war."

Padmé snapped her mouth shut, her face a pale, milky white.

"What reasoning Qui Gon and Anakin had, we do not know," Windu said severely. "But we received a report from the Chancellor's office four hours ago that Obi-Wan had been rescued, and is currently in transit back to Coruscant. Anakin and Qui Gon are with him." Windu paused. "The report also said that Dooku is dead. We know this to be true; Qui Gon himself reported in just minutes ago. He witnessed the death himself."

"Witnessed?" Sabé repeated. She reached out for Padmé's hand again. "So...it was Obi-Wan who killed Dooku?"

"No," Windu said, and the faces of the council members darkened at the same time as his voice did. "It was Skywalker. The boy has been trained to use his powers."

"Qui Gon," Padmé said. Her hand was trembling. 

"Yes. In secret."

Mutters erupted among the Council at that - too quiet for Sabé to hear, but the news was clearly still fresh. 

"Suspected this, you did," Yoda said. 

"Obi-Wan suspected it," Padmé admitted. "And told me."

"Somewhat loose-lipped, our Knight Kenobi has been," Yoda said, but it didn't sound like a censure. "Fear not, Senator Amidala. Face discipline Obi-Wan will not. Cannot punish him, can we, for following the will of the Force, hmm?"

"You...believe our marriage to be the will of the Force?" Padmé said. Sabé bit back a gasp: _marriage?_

"Obligated to follow our rules, it is not," Yoda replied, sounding amused. Sabé gaped at the rest of the council in shock, but none of them even looked _surprised._ "Brought you together, the Force did. Followed his heart, Obi-Wan always has. Censure him for this, we will not."

"Plus," one of the human members chimed in - a stately woman with a large headdress and some sort of facial jewelry that dangled in front of her mouth, "he told us about it years ago."

Padmé's mouth dropped open again. "That tricky son of a - "

Mace Windu laughed, as did a few of the other members - a welcome break in the tension. Sabé's shoulders relaxed. "A very different story, had he lied. But Obi-Wan was always a stickler for the rules."

"More severe consequences are yours, I think," Yoda said, his ears twitching. "Politics...very tangled they have become. Lost my touch for it, I have." He shook his head, still smiling wryly, as if it were a sad joke. 

"I still don't understand," Padmé said. "If Qui Gon was training Anakin all this time...do you think the Chancellor knows? Is that why he gave them codes?"

"He always did want a pet Jedi of his own," Windu said darkly. "How complicit Qui Gon was, we don't yet know. But whatever battle has just transpired on Geonosis - it's likely that you were part of it. At least tangentially."

"You think the assassin that's been threatening me was working for Palpatine?" Padmé asked incredulously.

"Master Zhurro reported in not ten minutes before you arrived," Windu said. "The gun the assassin was carrying was fake. She broke your window with a sonic blast, but the actual pulses in her gun were nothing more than beams of light. The droid too, looks to be a test model - its gun was also ineffectual. Your own people discovered this, and informed Captain Panaka during your trip over here."

"Propaganda," Sabé spit, her heart beating triple time in her chest. "Palpatine wants a war. We all know that much - "

"And war he now has," Windu said gravely. "Dooku's death will undoubtedly prompt a response. Qui Gon and Anakin escaped cleanly with Obi-Wan, but the Separatists _will_ retaliate. That much is certain."

"Then it was all for nothing," Padmé said, her voice suddenly thick with despair. "The Military Creation Act...it was just a show, a farce - "

"More news, there is," Yoda said gravely. His mossy green eyes looked dark with sympathy, his ears folded back against the side of his head. "Senator Amidala. What know you about clones?"

Padmé's hand clenched in Sabé's grip, and the chamber went deathly silent. 

"Oh _kriff_ ," Padmé said. 

IV.

"Well," Obi-Wan said. 

"Indeed," Qui Gon replied. They stared at each other for a moment, overwhelmed. 

Obi-Wan had been angrier before, when he was alone. Lying in the medbay, gritting his teeth while the droids struggled to cut the cuffs from his wrists without damaging his nerves even more, it was all he could feel: a helpless anger, and betrayal. But now, looking at his former Master - not without injury himself, although Anakin had shielded him from the worst of the battle - leaning heavily on his cane, his face grave, Obi-Wan couldn't muster up the strength. 

"Sit, Master," he said finally. He was still confined to his bed, and for good reason - even with the cool relief of the Force returned to him, Obi-Wan still felt weaker than he'd ever felt in his life. "We have much to talk about."

Qui Gon sat, silently. Around them, the meddroids whirred to and fro, their indicator lights beeping softly as they attended to the other patients - the clonetroopers that had been sent to assist them by the Chancellor. Obi-Wan still recoiled on instinct whenever one of them took their helmets off - to see Jango Fett's face, repeated on so many different beings...something inside him recoiled at the very nature of what had been done to these people. 

"They tell me you will make a full recovery," Qui Gon finally said quietly. 

"Yes. I am told the same about Anakin," Obi-Wan said neutrally.

Qui Gon swallowed. "I've already informed Shmi, though doubtless the Chancellor has kept her updated throughout this," he said. "The loss of his hand will be a blow, but he will persevere. He's very...tenacious."

"I see." Obi-Wan nodded. His own shoulder was currently a bloody, aching mess, but he'd refused any pain medication strong enough to dull his senses. The last thing he wanted right now was to feel shut up in the dark as he had while wearing the cuffs. Hopefully ever again. "You know him better than I do. I shall take your word for it."

Qui Gon's face seemed to wilt slightly, although he gave no other outward reaction. "I won't apologize, Obi-Wan. I was following the will of the Force."

"As you interpreted it," Obi-Wan replied, parroting back a sentiment that Qui Gon himself had scolded him with, countless times in Obi-Wan's youth. He still felt so tired, drained of any emotion but resignation, and a faint sense of fear, which sharpened as he looked upon his mentor's weary, wrinkled face. "I don't need an apology from you. If you think that I'm angry, then you're mistaken. It's not as if I didn't suspect the truth - for years, now."

"I would understand," Qui Gon said slowly, lowering his cane slightly to lean instead against the flat-paneled wall, "if you did want one, regardless."

"You did nothing to me. It's Anakin who deserves your regret."

Qui Gon flinched. "He would've developed his powers either way - the Council denied him the support he deserved when they refused - "

"Powers he did not know about until we crashed on his planet and used him to win ourselves an engine," Obi-Wan said tiredly. He lifted one shaky hand, still wrapped in bacta-soaked gauze, and considered it. "A hundred different opportunities, Master. Every day for years, we had a choice. A choice to leave this boy in peace, or to continue to drag him into the middle of this...mess." Obi-Wan let his hand fall back to the bed, unable to keep it afloat much longer. "What kind of man could he have been, if not for our interference? A merchant, a pilot, an athlete? A politician? He would've excelled at any of it - all of it. Instead, he is here. Injured, and embroiled in a political battle that he is too young, and too headstrong to see clearly."

Qui Gon seemed to struggle for words for a moment. Obi-Wan could sense his turmoil as keenly as he could feel his own; furthermore, he knew that Qui Gon agreed with him. "Anakin is smarter than you think he is, Padawan," he finally said, slipping back into their old familiar terms of address as if they'd never left them behind. For a moment, Obi-Wan was struck with a painful sort of longing to be young again - just an apprentice, winding up his Master on a long hyperspace journey. They hadn't seemed to be at the time, but they lived in simpler times, back then. "And you could make the same argument about yourself. About any of us. What we do, as Jedi - the way we take younglings away, isolate them from their origins - it's not without its ethical implications."

"This isn't a philosophical debate," Obi-Wan snapped, his patience wearing thin. "This was different. It was different then and it's different now."

Qui Gon conceded the point silently. Even the soft beeping sounds of the infirmary equipment seemed to dim, in the moment of tension. 

"You've given him just enough knowledge to be dangerous, haven't you?" Obi-Wan asked in dismay. He still didn't feel anger so much as a deep, gnawing despair. "Just enough to make him reckless. You taught him combat, but he didn't have much patience for meditation, did he? All the boldness with none of the self-control. None of the temperance or compassion."

"Obi-Wan - "

"I saw what he did to Dooku," Obi-Wan snapped, his patience fraying once more. "That was _anger,_ Qui Gon. _Vengeance._ Don't lie to me."

Qui Gon sighed, looking older than Obi-Wan had ever seen him. He raised his cane again and slowly, haltingly, moved to sit in the chair by Obi-Wan's bedside, his face lined with pain and exhaustion. 

"I was arrogant," he finally said. "So sure that I could do it by myself. I made a mistake."

Obi-Wan shook his head, pressing his mouth shut against the words that rose up in his throat like bile. 

"The Council had rejected me," Qui Gon continued heavily. He raised one hand in placation. "Whether that was their intent, it was my impression. I was getting older, gravely injured. You were a Knight - no longer in need of my guidance, although to be truthful you had outgrown me months before that - if not years. I still grieved for Xanatos, and Dooku, and...Tahl." Qui Gon shuddered visibly. "I disagreed with their decision regarding Anakin, and I still do. If they had agreed to train him, he _would_ have had all that support he needed. Better teachers than me. But I realize now that I have done him no favors."

Obi-Wan glanced at the muted holonet, still displaying the last headline he'd been reading before Qui Gon's entrance. **A HERO EMERGES: GRAND CHANCELLOR AIDE ANAKIN SKYWALKER DEFEATS SEPARATIST SCUM SINGLEHANDEDLY.** The other channels were similarly effusive. A shaky security recording of the most flattering clip of the battle - Palpatine's doing, Obi-Wan had no doubt - erased any doubts that the public might have. In the span of twenty odd hours, Anakin was now the Republic's valiant protector. 

"He could've been a great Jedi," Qui Gon said mournfully. "Better than all of us. He could've helped bring us out of the darkness."

"Well," Obi-Wan said, still staring at the frozen security picture. Anakin's face looked fuzzy and indistinct on the holo - nothing like the rictus of fury that Obi-Wan had witnessed firsthand. He'd gone straight for Dooku's neck - decapitating him with two broad strokes of his lightsaber, even though the Sith Lord had surrendered - on his knees, his arms out, pleading for mercy. And Anakin had killed him. With _Qui Gon's_ lightsaber. "We'll never know now, will we?"

Qui Gon took a deep breath. "I will face the Council's discipline, whatever it may be," he said. "But please, Obi-Wan. Anakin needs guidance now more than ever." He steeled his shoulders. "He loves Padmé dearly, but it's _you_ he looks up to. He was determined to rescue you. He's been having Force visions of you." Obi-Wan snapped his head over to look at him in surprise. "It was how we knew where you were being kept within the compound, and how we circumvented the droid general. He went there to _help_ you, Obi-Wan. However you feel about my decisions, don't take them out on him. It's not his fault."

"I wouldn't," Obi-Wan said, somewhat appalled. "He's just a boy. Do you think so little of me?"

"He still needs training," Qui Gon continued, as if Obi-Wan hadn't even spoken. "He trusts Padmé, and he admires you. He will listen," Qui Gon entreated, his tone almost pleading. "Palpatine has a concerning amount of influence on him. It will take someone with just as much influence to keep him balanced in the coming days."

"You're not leaving me with much choice, are you?" Obi-Wan asked, turning his eyes again to the holo. The anger was still missing, though. Obi-Wan felt hollow, as if sapped of everything but the bare essentials. Breath, blood, skin - nothing else. "I will try, Master. That's all I can do."

"Thank you," Qui Gon said, visibly relieved. He gripped his cane. "Thank you."

"They will not expel you," Obi-Wan said, after a moment. Qui Gon sighed again, less relieved this time. "Yoda will speak on your behalf. And we are in need of every body we have." Obi-Wan's mood darkened. "We are at war."

"A war I will not be fighting," Qui Gon said, gesturing to his leg. "I wish I had your confidence, Obi-Wan."

"And not even two minutes ago, you were calling yourself arrogant," Obi-Wan said with a faint smile. "I should've recorded it for posterity."

Qui Gon graced him with a smile of his own, impossibly fond. For the first time in weeks, Obi-Wan felt the warmth of affection washing over him, sent deliberately from another student of the Force, and tears sprang instantly to his eyes. It was almost painful, how sharp the feeling was. Like stepping out into the sun for the first time in months, wincing away from its brightness. Obi-Wan looked away, shutting his eyes - breathing deeply for a long moment, afraid of losing control entirely. 

Gracefully, Qui Gon didn't react. When Obi-Wan opened his eyes again, he was still sitting there quietly, smiling gently as if nothing had happened at all. "I am glad that you survived this, Obi-Wan," Qui Gon said finally. "I shudder to think what this war would be like without your wisdom, and your bravery."

"I don't feel very brave right now," Obi-Wan said wryly, indicating his wrists again. "In fact, I feel rather cowardly. Like taking a long nap in a cave of some kind."

Qui Gon reached out and patted his knee gently - the only spot on Obi-Wan's body that didn't currently hurt. "It'll pass," he said.

Obi-Wan's left shoulder was a mess, but other than that he looked no worse for the wear. Padmé clenched her fists at her sides as the clonetroopers clustered around them, making nuisances of themselves as the meddroids attempted to give Obi-Wan his recommendations for care. 

"Recommended preventative action: no heavy lifting or other strenuous physical activity for two point five weeks," she heard the droid saying. Obi-Wan looked exhausted, but seemed to be attempting to listen. "Regular infirmary visits for reapplication of the structural bandages and one bacta patch per two days. Self-administration is acceptable."

"Very well," she heard him say. Padmé saw the moment he looked up and saw her - his whole face going slack for a moment, his train of thought derailed. She clenched her fists tighter as his eyes fell on Sabé at her side, and his expression turned dark with sadness. "Is that all?"

"Ma'am," said one of the troopers, stepping in front of her line of sight. "The captain needs your authorization before we can release the patient into your care. Will you accompany me to the bridge?"

"Sabé," Padmé said thinly. Her friend stepped forward. 

"I can act in her stead."

"The protocol," the trooper began unsurely, but Sabé cut him off before he could even finish. 

"I am her handmaiden, I have signed as her proxy many times," she said. Raising her chin, she affected a voice of authority. "Clear the room, please. The Senator thanks you for your assistance."

Obi-Wan gripped the edge of the infirmary bench he was sitting on, his eyes fixed on the side of Sabé's face. Padmé wanted to cry - she wanted to scream and then cry and then never stop, just looking at him. Someone must have told him, she thought. He must have already known somehow, but he was hoping it wasn't true. 

Cordé would be here too, if she were still alive. Nothing in this universe would've kept her away. Obi-Wan knew that. 

She barely noticed the room clearing, as fixed on him as she was - Sabé's hand brushing lightly across the back of one shoulder made her shiver, but she felt like she couldn't move, frozen to the deck of the infirmary as if her shoes had been welded to the steel. Obi-Wan didn't look at her again until the room was empty - the troopers' boots echoing down the hallway, Sabé's voice fading in volume as she led them towards the cockpit. Padmé took a deep breath, and finally - for the first time in months, it felt like - allowed her fists to loosen. 

"Padmé," Obi-Wan said. Her breath caught in her throat. "Oh, darling."

She was in his arms before he even realized she was moving - burying her face against his familiar shoulder. Her whole body felt like it was floating - unattached from the universe around her, tethered only by the strength of his arms around her. 

"I'm sorry," he murmured, "I'm so sorry - "

"Cordé," she said, trying to talk but unable to push the words past her tears. "Obi-Wan, she - she was - "

"Shh. Take your time," he said. 

"Patient, your heart rate and cortisone levels are outside the recommended levels," the meddroid said in its toneless, mechanical voice. "Attempt to calm yourself."

"Power down, authorization Alpha Bish'ta four five nine eight," Obi-Wan snapped, and the meddroid's eyes went dark, its limbs frozen mid-movement. Padmé let out a watery laugh at the absurdity of its position - half bent over the tray of medical implements, it looked like it was about to tip over into a cartwheel. "Sorry. I hate those things."

"Those things have saved your life on numerous occasions," Padmé teased gently, pulling back to see his precious face. The moment of despair broken, she wiped the tears from her face and then pressed her palms to his cheeks, looking him over critically, from head to toe. "Look at you. Not even a month without me and you almost get yourself killed." She tutted. "Men."

"I was quite lost without you," Obi-Wan agreed genially, with an earnestness in his face that belied the lightness in his tone. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you what I was doing, Padmé."

"You couldn't," Padmé said, waving away the apology. "I know everything now." Her mood darkened, thinking of the troopers, marching through her ship at that very moment. "Palpatine is claiming that the clone army was commissioned by the Jedi." 

"He's right, from a certain point of view," Obi-Wan said. He sighed. "We discovered the army's existence three days before I left Coruscant. Qui Gon found a discrepancy in the records. The name the cloners were given was Master Sifo-Dyas."

Padmé frowned. "Wasn't he on the High Council?"

"He was. A close friend of Dooku's." Obi-Wan clutched her wrists tightly, as if trying to ground himself as he fought against his exhaustion to explain - his speech was even a little slurred, as if he was drunk. Padmé leaned more heavily against him, silently offering her strength, as much as she could. "He died two years before the army was commissioned, so it had to be a deliberate attempt to frame us. Someone with access to his accounts...unless he wasn't really dead, and Dooku lied...but there's no way to say for sure. At any rate, it certainly wasn't sanctioned by the Council. Whoever did it was trying to set us up for something."

"That is what I figured," Padmé admitted. She touched his face again - a bruise was just beginning to purple next to his eye, but he didn't flinch when she ran her fingers over it - just leaned in closer, his eyelids dipping closed momentarily. Her heart ached. "They killed Cordé. Whoever it is that's trying to manipulate you - they were trying to manipulate me, too."

"I'm so sorry," Obi-Wan mumbled, his voice thick with grief. "Dooku said it to taunt me...I didn't want to believe it."

"Me either," Padmé replied, her eyes stinging with tears again. "I still don't."

Obi-Wan reached up with one bandaged, scraped up hand, and gently touched her cheek. Instantly, a wave of calmness swept over her, and the spot where his palm made contact with her face seemed to almost tingle with warmth. Padmé sighed, leaning into him for a blissful moment, before pulling away, taking his hand in both of hers and lowering it to hang gently between them. 

"I wish I could do more," Obi-Wan said after a moment.

"Having you back," Padmé said honestly, "alive, in one piece - it's enough. It's more than enough."

There was a moment of silence, in which Padmé could almost feel Obi-Wan's grief as clearly as she was certain he could feel hers. It was always that way, when they were alone together. 

"Have you seen Anakin?" Obi-Wan finally asked, quietly, as if he didn't want to break the moment.

"No," Padmé said with regret. "He was still sealed in the bacta tank when I came aboard. And by now, of course, he's on his way back to Coruscant in the Chancellor's ship." She gave a bitter laugh. "Only the best for the new Hero of the Republic."

"Qui Gon left as well. Earlier this morning. The Council sent a transport for him."

"And not for you?"

"I suppose they knew I already had a ride," Obi-Wan said lightly, his tone only somewhat forced. He smiled up at her - a strange sensation, being taller than him. Padmé was used to craning her neck to see his face. "A day's journey back to the capital, my lady. One day, and a handful of hours. It will have to be enough."

"We will make it enough," Padmé said, her voice trembling. Already, her padd was filling up with missives from other Senators, official correspondence from the Chancellor's office. Skirmishes had erupted in at least eight other systems, and several distress calls had reached the capital from trade ships that had been stopped or commandeered by Separatist forces. Obi-Wan's injuries were serious, but not debilitating - he'd be whisked away to the Temple for treatment, and then he'd probably be sent out again - out to the battlefield. Her blood chilled. They were going to ask the Jedi to take field commissions, to lead squadrons of clone soldiers. It was confidential at the moment - for senior Senate members only. But gossip moved quickly on Coruscant. 

As did war. She knew it would be like this - they all did. Perhaps that's why they'd been fighting so hard to delay the inevitable. 

"The Separatists have already named a new leader in the wake of Dooku's death," Obi-Wan said faintly, as if it were an afterthought. "The droid general who captured me. Can you imagine?"

"Fitting," Padmé said, squeezing his hands tightly. "Was it terrible? Don't try to protect me. I want to know."

"It was," Obi-Wan said lightly, "but it is over now."

Padmé laughed through her tears, untangling one of her hands to touch his precious face - smooth back the wild tendrils of his hair, loose and still stiff with dried blood. 

"Is there a viewscreen in your quarters on the ship, my lady?" Obi-Wan asked. His expression was fond, tight at the corners with pain, but Padmé could see nothing but relief and love - familiar, constant love. A love that had guided her through countless trials for half of her life - a love she could feel even from light years away. "I'm afraid I've misplaced your sister's moon again. I was hoping you could help me find it."

Padmé held his chin steady, and leaned down and kissed him. Her arms came up around her, rumpling the folds of her dress. His beard was scratchy and unkempt, and the smell of bacta was acrid and overwhelming, but Padmé had never had a better kiss in her entire life. She would remember this moment forever - no matter what happened. 

Nothing could take this from them, not really. If she knew anything, she knew that: to love once was to love forever. Life may come and go, but these moments - they were eternal. If they died tomorrow, it would still exist. If they lived forever, it would not be any better than it was right now. 

"Yes," Padmé said, whispering the word into the air between them. Obi-Wan shuddered a little, and tightened his hands on her waist. "Yes, I can show you."

"I knew you would," Obi-Wan said.

It was beginning to feel familiar - this new status quo. Two, instead of three. Sabé had not spoken to Panaka at length since that harrowing night on Coruscant, when the fake assassin had been captured by Master Zhurro, but she could tell his opinions well enough just by the look on his face. He was not a subtle man, their Panaka. 

"Can't believe she pulled it off right under our noses," he grumbled. Their ship was humming quietly beneath their feet, and their Senator was wrapped up in her Jedi - her Jedi _husband._ Sabé still marveled at the strangeness of it. "When did they even do it?"

"On Naboo," Sabé murmured. She smirked a little to herself, wiping it from her expression the second Panaka turned to look. "Two years ago. When he returned with her for little Pooja's birthday, remember?"

"I did think it was strange that her family wanted him to come. But I just thought it was that Jedi charm."

"That 'Jedi charm' is called 'being a nice person,' in our corner of the universe, Captain," Sabé teased, unable to help herself. "Obi-Wan Kenobi might be brave and handsome, but he's no more charming than anyone else with those attributes."

"I thought Jedi weren't supposed to get married," Panaka grumbled, ignoring her taunt as he usually did. 

"This one was. He got permission."

" _Permission?!_ "

Sabé smirked again. The conversation with her lady on their journey to intercept Qui Gon and Anakin's ship had been illuminating, to say the least. "Are you jealous, Captain?"

"Don't be stupid. I'm a happily married man," Panaka said, scandalized. 

"Not like that!" Sabé laughed. "Although I'm sure your dear Ric wouldn't mind if you were nursing a bit of a crush on our lady's dashing Jedi - he'd hardly blame you for looking, after all - "

Panaka threw one of his gloves at her. Sabé dodged it easily, still giggling. 

"You're too much of a romantic," he accused sternly, although a smile was lurking in the corners of his mouth. "You have to realize how this complicates our position politically - not to mention the Jedi's - "

"Of course I realize," Sabé said, shaking her head. She glanced at the viewscreen, which showed only the blue streaks of hyperspace. "But let's take a moment to breathe, shall we? We're safe, we're alive. Padmé is happy, and Dooku is dead. Can we not take a moment to enjoy it?"

Panaka conceded the point with a shrug. They sat in silence for a moment, during which Sabé waited indulgently for the inevitable: Panaka couldn't help himself. He was a man of singular determination. "Do you believe the Council's theory about Palpatine?"

Sabé shook her head. "I don't _not_ believe it," she said. 

"The blaster _was_ harmless. The poison darts _were_ empty," Panaka said. "I tested them myself. What possible reason could anyone have to _fake_ an assassination attempt, if not for the public spectacle it would cause, the political implications?"

"It wasn't an attempt," Sabé snapped. "It claimed one life, Panaka."

Her old friend sobered. "Of course. I didn't mean to imply - "

"No." Sabé waved her hand. Her throat was tight, but she was quite used to it by now. "No, I know you didn't. It hits me sometimes unexpectedly, that's all."

The mood sufficiently grimmer, they thought together in silence, watching the blue streak by on their cockpit screen. The security feeds which monitored the Senator's compartment beeped in quiet solidarity. 

"Palpatine would have motive," Sabé said after a moment, "but so would any other Senator who wanted to instigate violence, or influence her vote. The clone army changes things. Who knew about it beforehand? And for how long? Whoever planned that manipulation couldn't have predicted the Jedi discovering it on their own. What was the original plan? The fake assassin had to have been part of it. Don't you think?"

Panaka inclined his head. Then, he frowned - caught by something on one of his indication panels. "Sabé," he said. "Was that - "

"I see it," Sabé said. She rose to her feet. "The medbay wasn't shut down properly, the droids might have - "

Both their comms activated at the exact same time, beeping insistently with Padmé's emergency signal. Both of them sprung into action immediately, all previous conversation forgotten. 

The commotion that had activated the proximity alarm soon became apparent; in the curved corridor that led to Padmé's quarters, a clonetrooper was lying on the ground, dead. One of the guards the Chancellor's ship had left for them for safety - his helmet had been shattered, and there was blood pooling beneath the neck of his white armor. Sabé paused for only a second, Panaka's boots heavy on the steel behind her, and ran forward into Padmé's chambers. They opened beneath her hand easily - coded to her DNA scan - and a wave of noise greeted her. Sounds of a fight. 

Padmé was on the floor, pinned to the ground by another clonetrooper. She was only half-dressed, a nightgown tangled up around her legs, her face growing red from lack of air. One of her arms was outstretched and she was groping for her blaster, on the floor a few feet away. Sabé didn't hesitate; she shot the trooper twice in the head, shattering his helmet and sending him sprawling back against the floor. Moving forward, heart pounding, Sabé fired again - three more times, dead center into the trooper's chest. Then she dropped to Padmé's side, her weapon still outstretched. 

"My lady," she said quickly, "have you been shot? Breathe slowly - "

"Obi-Wan," Padmé said through a gasp, her face streaked with tears. She used Sabé's outstretched arm to pull herself up, and then staggered over to the bed, which Sabé had not even registered - Obi-Wan was there, in a similar state of undress. There was blood on the sheets - a terrifying lopsided circle of red. "Oh, God. Oh God, Sabé - call the meddroids - "

"Sabé," Panaka barked, appearing in the doorway, his own weapon still drawn. His eyes took in the scene quickly, hardening at the sight of the second dead trooper, and Padmé crouched over Obi-Wan on the bed. She'd turned him over to expose the wound - a blaster shot to the chest, cauterized but clearly severe. Padmé was scrambling with bloody hands, pulling the first aid kit out of the wall, tearing it apart in search of the bacta packs held inside. "None of the clonetroopers are answering hails; we have to assume they're all hostile. I counted six total from the Chancellor's complement - did you accept any more onboard?"

Sabé shook her head numbly, kneeling at Obi-Wan's side next to Padmé, reaching out to help her lady with the bacta. "These two were assigned to the quarters," she called over her shoulder, "the other four I put on basic patrol. Check the engine room - oh God, the cockpit - "

Panaka firmed his jaw. "Lock this door, and do not open it until we reach Coruscant," he ordered, "not for _anything._ "

"He needs medical attention," Padmé barked, whirling around. Her voice was terribly hoarse, but she seemed uninjured otherwise - Sabé put the pieces together in her head, silently. A shot into the dark of their bedroom - Obi-Wan probably stepped in front of it, on instinct. Padmé returned fire and killed the first trooper. She turned to check on her husband, which is when the second trooper attacked - took her by surprise. Sabé applied the bacta to the Jedi's wound, wrapping it up one of the bedsheets, her heart grim. 

Assassins, she thought. Assassins and soldiers and aides secretly trained in mind powers. She'd had just about enough of all of it. 

"Not for _anything_ ," Panaka said again, and shut the door with another wave of his hand. Sabé could hear his boots clanking as he strode away, and Padmé's quiet, wordless noise of rage. 

"The meddroids are not programmed for trauma, my lady," she said quietly, "they're basic models for long term care transport, they wouldn't be able to do much else than what we can do here - "

"Oh God," Padmé said, leaning her forehead against the edge of the bed. Obi-Wan was unconscious, but his chest still rose and fell, and Sabé groped for her lady's hands and pressed them against his skin, tearing up herself at the strangled noise of pain that Padmé made. "Oh God, Sabé - "

Sabé moved so that her arms were around her, circling Padmé's small, trembling body as they both knelt there, beside the bed. Their hands pressed against Obi-Wan's wound together. "It missed his heart," Sabé said, fighting to keep her voice even. "We're two hours out from Coruscant. Panaka will kill the other troopers and redirect us to the emergency medbays on the upper diplomatic levels. Three hours total. That's all we need. Three hours."

"Three hours," Padmé repeated, somewhat distant. But her hands tightened beneath Sabé's, and her shoulders grew stiff. "I just got him back."

"And you'll have him still," Sabé said, knowing in that moment that she would rearrange the very fabric universe if she had to, to make that statement reality. "Three hours."

"Three hours," Padmé said. Beneath their palms, Obi-Wan breathed on. 

V.

Anakin woke slowly, aware of very little, other than his mother's presence. Dimly, he pictured himself back on Tatooine: a little boy again, sick from sandworms for the third time in the same month because Watto was too damn cheap to pay for his vaccinations. Shmi had to work twice as hard to earn the money to pay for them, and the whole time Anakin had caught every bug from every visitor that came through that blasted spaceport. From the time he was born until he was five years old, Anakin rarely left his bed. 

"Ani," Shmi said. He became aware of where he was as he came aware of her voice: familiar and precious. "Ani, can you hear me? Squeeze my hand, dearest one."

Ani tried. To his surprise, both his hands worked. "Mom?"

"Oh, Ani - slowly, my dear - "

Anakin forced his eyes open, the sterile whiteness of a medbay. Memories of the past few days came back all in a rush, and Anakin gasped, lurching up at the waist and nearly dislodging Shmi from her position, perched on the side of his bed. "Obi-Wan! Did they get him out - is he alive - "

"Ani, calm down! Your sensors," Shmi said, reaching out to calm him. Anakin looked down and realized he was hooked up to a number of wires, all of which centered on his right wrist. He swallowed thickly, suddenly nauseous. "It's alright, he's alright. He's alive; the Senator has him. They're due to arrive back on Coruscant any minute now."

"And Qui Gon?" Anakin swallowed. The full implications of what they'd done were beginning to dawn on him: they'd stolen a ship. Anakin's training was no longer a secret, either - surely Obi-Wan would tell the Council. His stomach roiled even more. 

"He's fine too. He's been in with the Council for hours now." Shmi was frustratingly neutral as she urged him back against the pillows. "Rest, Ani, please. The Chancellor wants to see you as soon as you're fully awake, but I don't want you leaving this bed until I'm certain you can stand on your own two feet."

Anakin swallowed. Meeting her eyes tentatively, he tried to muster enough heart for a smile, but he couldn't make it work. "Are you angry with me, Mom?"

"Oh, Ani," Shmi said. She looked exhausted, her face lined with worry. "No. I wish you'd told me, that's all."

"I wanted to. Qui Gon wanted me to keep it a secret."

Shmi's face darkened, but she said nothing.

"I had to save him, Mom," Anakin said, choked. "It was _important._ He and Padmé have to live - and they have to be allowed to be together. I can't tell you why - only that I know it's true in my heart."

"I know," Shmi soothed. "I know, sweetheart. I trust you; I always have."

Anakin found himself tearing up, to his own horror. The smell of blood was still thick in his nostrils. "I did it again, Mom," he said, pushing the words out through a blocked throat. His own voice was barely above a whisper. "What I did to Malik."

"Oh, Ani," Shmi said again, her own tears falling freely. She leaned over the bed and gathered him into her arms, and Anakin let himself be held, pressing his face against her solid, familiar arm. 

Theed - four years ago. A noble who'd wanted to marry his mother. The nicest man in public, but cruel in private. Ani shut his eyes tighter against the memory - not even Padmé knew. 

They stayed like that for an indeterminate length of time, struggling to defeat their tears together. Anakin tried to use the meditation techniques that Qui Gon was always urging him to do - going through each aspect of the memory one by one, calmly, methodically, and then setting it aside. _Confront, do not ignore. But do not dwell, either. Look it in the eye, and let it pass from you like smoke. Memories only hurt when you let them fester, Anakin._

He wasn't sure he was doing it right, though. All he felt was anger and fear. 

The next few hours were a blur of medics and various periods of pain: Anakin knew on some level that the hand on the end of his wrist was a prosthetic, but the best of the Chancellor's care meant that he'd been unconscious for the worst parts, and it had all happened very, very quickly. Shmi seemed to be ignoring its existence altogether, as if she could make the bad thing not have happened by not acknowledging it at all, and Anakin was content to follow her lead, at least right then. 

He was sick with worry about Qui Gon - he didn't _deserve_ to be kicked out of the Jedi, it wasn't _fair_ \- and worried too about the Chancellor's reaction - but Shmi's assurances helped a bit, on that front. 

"You're all over the holonets, dear heart," she said, with reluctant pride. She shooed away one of the meddroids to activate the holo, which sprang into existence with an image of his own face - a publicity photo from a recent diplomatic function. **ANAKIN SKYWALKER: SLAYER OF SITH,** was the headline. Ani's eyes went wide and round. "You know this is Palpatine's doing. He released the security footage from Dooku's compound - said it was better to control the tone of the story, rather than let the press come to their own conclusions."

Ani stared at the holo, struck silent for once in his life. He didn't know at all how to react. 

"I don't think he'll be angry with you exactly," Shmi said tentatively. Her face still looked worried. "But Ani, listen - about the Chancellor - "

"Mom," Anakin interrupted, as a breaking news segment interrupted the silent headline they'd been looking at. "Oh no."

**JUST IN: ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT CLAIMS THE LIFE OF SIX EN ROUTE TO CORUSCANT. SENATOR AMIDALA OF CHOMMELL ALIVE; JEDI KNIGHT OBI-WAN KENOBI IN CRITICAL CONDITION.**

"Oh _no,_ " Ani said, sitting up straight. He craned his head to call for one of the aides. "Get me the Chancellor's office!"

"It must have happened right after you left them!" Shmi exclaimed. Beneath the headline was a fuzzy paparazzi shot of Padmé's diplomatic cruiser docked at one of the emergency medbay hangars. "Oh, poor Padmé - "

"I have to get down there," Ani said, fumbling to disconnect his wires. "Droid! Unhook me - "

"Ani, no - calm down, you're still listed as critical yourself you know - "

Another headline erupted, replacing the first. **EMERGENCY MEETING OF THE SENATE STALLED; SENATOR AMIDALA REQUESTS PERMISSION TO ADDRESS THE FLOOR. LIVE FEED AVAILABLE.**

"Mom," Anakin said insistently. "I have to _be there._ "

Shmi's eyes narrowed. "Anakin - "

"I'll break out of here on my own if you say no," Anakin threatened. 

"Young man," Shmi said, her voice growing stern. She reached out and tapped the button for the live feed, and pointedly reached out to poke at Anakin's shoulder with her other. He hissed in pain - the blaster fire had caught him in several places, and he was still sensitive. "I'd like to see you try."

Anakin deflated. " _Mom._ Come on."

"One more word and I'll make the droids give you another sedative," Shmi said sternly. 

Anakin crossed his arms. "Fine," he said in a huff. "Turn up the volume at least."

Shmi raised an eyebrow. 

"Turn up the volume _please?_ "

"That's better," Shmi said. 

Mace Windu had seen more hectic days on the floor of the Senate, but not by much. He and Bail Organa had avoided most of it by boarding the senatorial pod early, but even so pods flew back and forth frantically, and voices were raised in annoyance and alarm in the corridors and Senators and aides rushed to find a free pod to witness the coming session. 

They could see Padmé's pod vaguely, hovering in the center of the chamber, near the Chancellor's dock, but it was far enough away that neither of them could see the woman herself. The video feeds had not yet been activated - a rare show of compassion from Palpatine, Mace noted. Perhaps he still had a soft spot for his former monarch after all. 

"Any update?" Bail asked quietly. He'd dismissed all of his aides for the day, and so they were alone on the pod - only an astromech droid for company. It was one of the models that Obi-Wan favored, Mace noted - maybe it'd been a gift. He and Bail were rather close, after all. 

"They've got him in the tank now," Mace said quietly. The pods all had security measures, but it was a large chamber, and many Senators had keen ears. And recording devices. "No damage to his heart or lungs. But he lost a lot of blood, and his other injuries are exacerbating his condition. They want to keep him in bacta for at least a week, and monitor his vitals for signs of brain damage."

Bail blew out a slow breath. "Seems a cruel thing," he said, "to survive captivity like that only to be shot down by an assassin."

"Obi-Wan is strong," Mace said. "Among the strongest of all of us. I have faith in him, Senator Organa."

Bail regarded him solemnly. "Indeed," he said, after a beat. He glanced down to Padmé's pod again. "What do you think she's going to say?"

It was Mace's turn for a steadying, calming breath. "I have no idea," he said. 

Around them, the chamber lit up with indicator lights, a warning sign that the session was about to start. Palpatine wasted no time - few theatrics tonight. The holonets had done that for him, Mace thought bitterly. 

"Greetings, my esteemed colleagues," Palpatine said. The feeds focused on his frail face - lined with age and sickness, he hardly seemed more than a tired old man - until he spoke, that is. "We resume our session tonight under the most dire of circumstances. The fates have not allowed us rest. One of our own was attacked on her way back from battle - and a loyal ally lays in our medbays, grievously injured, in defense of our democracy. The Senate acknowledges the Senator from the Chommell sector, who I hope can shed some light on the events tonight for us. Senator Amidala, you have the floor." 

The video feed snapped without warning to a view of Padmé, her face lighting up the huge screens that hovered in the chamber. Mace heard Bail draw in a quick, surprised breath, and the chamber reacted similarly - gasps of shock and horror echoed in the small space, with some voices even crying out in alarm. Mace himself reacted inwardly, but his heart tightened, knowing for a fact whose blood it was that streaked Padmé's face. 

It looked as if she'd walked straight off her ship onto the Senate floor - she hadn't changed her clothes, or even touched her hair. Her eyes were rimmed with red, and there was blood smeared on one of her cheeks, and all over her hands and arms. She was wrapped in some kind of robe - a man's robe. A Jedi robe, Mace realized, and sat up straighter in his seat. _Senator Amidala,_ he thought. _You terrible genius._

"Thank you, Chancellor," Padmé said, her chin held high. Her voice was so hoarse it was nearly unrecognizable, and he held a glass of water in her hand, trembling only slightly in her grip. "Greetings, colleagues, friends. Forgive my appearance, please. I come to you as I came to you once before, years ago in my youth. I stood before you as Queen of Naboo and pleaded with you for help." She paused, and Mace almost held his breath, waiting for the axe to fall. "You denied me then. I dare you to deny me now."

Bail dropped his padd with a clatter. "Oh, kriff," he murmured, leaning forward, his eyes wide and intent. 

"Tonight, I was travelling back to Coruscant from Geonosis," Padmé said, "where I met the Jedi Qui Gon Jinn, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and the Chancellor's aide Anakin Skywalker, as they returned from the site of the battle. I won't dwell on the details of that battle, as it is not my place - I was simply there to provide aid and transport. Qui Gon Jinn and Anakin Skywalker were transported back to Coruscant quickly, but Obi-Wan Kenobi returned with me. He spent a day recovering from injuries sustained during his captivity with the Separatists on the Republican medship, before being transferred to my cruiser."

Shouts broke out, but Padmé waited them out, staring at the camera sternly until they subsided. Bail let out a tense breath. "They haven't been calling it a captivity," he said, in an undertone to Mace. "The Chancellor hasn't said anything about it publicly, but in private he was saying that Obi-Wan might have broken the truce. The rumor was making its rounds."

"'Dare to deny,' indeed," Mace replied, in impressed awe. 

"I went to collect him personally," Padmé said, lifting her chin again, "because Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi is my husband. We were married six years ago in secret on my home planet of Naboo."

The chamber exploded. Mace sat back in his seat, covering his mouth with one hand. 

"Holy shit," Bail said. He blinked. "Wait, six? I thought - "

"She's lying," Mace said. He laughed, despite himself. "About that, anyway."

"Holy shit," Bail said again. 

"We did so because we were both afraid of the political implications," Padmé said, practically spitting her words at the cameras. "Afraid that I would seem biased. Afraid my position would be compromised. Afraid his authority would be weakened, because of misconceptions about the Jedi, and what they do. But I am no longer afraid, Senators. I am no longer afraid of anything." Her eyes blazed. "Seven hours ago, as my husband and I slept - reunited after weeks of uncertainty, while he was held captive and _tortured_ by the Separatist High Council - the clonetroopers assigned to guard us broke into our bedroom and shot at us in our bed. Obi-Wan - my husband - " her voice broke slightly, and she belted down a drink of water, wiping it from her mouth with the back of her hand. She looked almost feral - and the chamber was oddly quiet, clearly captivated. Mace marveled again at her - be it skill, or circumstance, or both, it was genius. Just _genius._ "He stepped in front of the blast. He saved my life. That is how he was injured. Protecting me from a soldier who was supposed to be protecting _us._ " She glared angrily at the camera. "Or so we are _told._ "

A few shouts erupted again, and the Chancellor's dock started to move, as it did when Palpatine was getting ready to address the crowd. But then - it stopped, mid-motion. Mace's eyes narrowed, and he saw on the deck several beings rushing around in some kind of urgency. 

"I know not yet if he will live or die," Padmé said, practically shouting. Her voice was strained to its limits, but Mace still felt its power in his bones - the emotion and righteousness that held the entire chamber hostage. "But what I do know is that someone is lying to us, Senators. The Jedi did not commission this army, and neither did the Senate. We don't know what its purpose is, or whose commands these soldiers are following. And if not for my husband's presence in my quarters seven hours ago, I'd be too dead to expose their treachery!"

More shouts. Beside him, Bail rubbed his face with both palms. When his face emerged again, it was pale with shock and apprehension. 

"You know very well where my office stands regarding the creation of an army, and the decision of this Republic to go to war," Padmé said, "and my position has not changed. I say this to you not out of bitterness, or manipulation. I come to you in an hour of need - while the most beloved person in my life lies half-dead in a medbay - and I ask you simply, my colleagues. My friends." Padmé took a moment to pause, her hands clasped in front of her chin. Obi-Wan's blood was bright, crimson red on the cameras. "We all want peace. The Separatist High Council wants war, and perhaps it is inevitable. But it must be on our terms, Senators. We _cannot_ trust an army with soldiers who are _bred_ to answer the commands of someone _we do not know!_ How can we lead squadrons into battle when we can't be sure whether their weapons will turn on us when they are done?"

More shouts now, and growing louder. Mace felt his heart lift slightly - looking around, he saw Senators in their pods bent over in intense discussion. 

"I hold no particular compassion for the Separatist High Council," Padmé continued. "They tortured my husband. They shackled him in a room for weeks with the barest amount of food and water - they taunted him, injured him, isolated him. They killed my handmaiden, and they tried to kill me. And then they shot him." Padmé's voice trembled. "But here I stand: alive. And should my husband live, he will say the same thing: peace is not yet out of reach. We can have it again. But not if we allow ourselves to be manipulated." Padmé leaned forward, her hair falling slightly out of its loose bun, her red-stained knuckles tight against the railing of the pod. "I leave you with this final evidence, Senators. The security footage of this attack will be available on the internal server for twenty-four hours. Download it, save it, do whatever you want. I have nothing to hide. If my husband dies tonight, he dies at the hands of the clone army. A Jedi Master, unparalleled in his accomplishments. A hero who risked his life to accept an invitation for _negotiations_ from the Separatists - because he still believed in peace." Padmé took a shaky breath. "As do I, despite everything. I thank the floor for their attention, and relinquish the remainder of my time."

Padmé took a step back, and Mace saw the handmaiden Sabé step up to support her, one arm around her waist. She looked as if she were about to collapse, and the Senate erupted into deafening noise - a cacophony of shouting and yelling as the video feed cut back to the Chancellor's pod. Clearly unprepared for the sudden live feed, the Chancellor was slumped in his chair, talking intently to an aide - both of whom snapped to attention. The video feed instantly cut off once more, growing dark in a breach of protocol that betrayed how Padmé had taken them _all_ off guard - even the unflappable Chancellor. 

"Holy shit," Bail said again, raising his voice to be heard over the din. "Master Windu - "

"Not here," Mace called back, pulling his head up. Already, heads were turning to stare at the Jedi in the midst. "Recall the pod, Senator."

Bail hit the button on the controls that would pull the pod back into its loading dock, and away from prying eyes. Around them, Mace glimpsed other pods doing the same. "Did you know?" Bail demanded, as the security screen moved to shield them from the chamber. "That they were married? Obi-Wan never said anything - of course it's not a surprise, they've always been close, but I'd thought it was against your rules - "

"We knew," Mace said, conceding this much. Bail Organa was a good ally to have. "Obi-Wan was granted permission to marry. It's not unheard of. Normally we would require a Jedi to leave active service as a Knight - serve the Order in a less political position - but our numbers are thin. An exception was made."

Bail was still shaking his head, looking numb with shock. "My God," he said. "Padmé looked...Master Windu, what are the chances of his survival?"

"High," Mace said, steepling his hands together beneath his chin. Outside their pod, the hallways were louder than over - people practically running down the hallways, talking loudly. "The long term effects might be severe. We cannot say for certain that he will fully recover, but yes - he will live." Mace thought of Qui Gon, who was back in the Temple medbay, much as Obi-Wan was - a virus contracted on Geonosis had hit almost the instant he arrived back on Coruscant, and his already-compromised immune system was vulnerable. The Council had resigned itself to delivering Qui Gon's dressing down as gently as possible, over vidscreen to Qui Gon's medbay bed. Hardly the censure that Qui Gon deserved, but - he'd said as much to Bail. Their numbers were very thin. 

Bail let out a visibly relieved breath. "I must...make some calls," he said, rising to his feet. "Senator Mothma must be informed, she's still in seclusion for her pregnancy. And I should call on Padmé...should she want to see me…"

"She will," Mace said, rising to his feet as well. "I must return to the Temple. Thank you for allowing my presence tonight, Senator."

"Call me Bail, please," Bail said, reaching out to shake Mace's hand. "The Jedi can always call upon me. Especially now," Bail said wryly. He shook his head in amazement. "Everything's different now. She did a hell of a thing, with that speech. Five minutes, and everything changed." Bail looked out at the corridors warily. "For better or worse, though - that's the question."

"Time will tell," Mace said, torn between his own amazement and a sense of apprehension - the Council would hardly mind Padmé's bold declaration of her relationship with Obi-Wan as much as they would her claim that he'd been invited for "peace" negotiations with the Separatists. And Obi-Wan himself still had yet to report - for obvious, understandable reasons, of course, but the fact remained that they had very little information on his captivity, or the battle with Dooku, and his subsequent death...or Anakin Skywalker's involvement...Mace was already exhausted. 

It'd been a hectic few days, to say the least. 

"May the Force be with you, friend," Bail said. 

"And with you," Mace returned, automatically. He regarded Organa with shrewd eyes. "I suspect we're all going to need it, in the coming days."

Bail nodded solemnly. "Let's hope we're ready," he said. 

Padmé could barely speak, after her speech. She'd strained her voice to the breaking point. Sabé kept making her tea, which she pretended to sip for a few moments and then discarded as soon as her handmaiden wasn't looking. She hated tea. She didn't know why she always pretended to like it - for Cordé's sake, probably. Cordé was a tea connoisseur. She and Obi-Wan could go on for ages, talking about this blend or that additive, while Padmé sat next to them and watched them fondly, not even pretending to listen. 

She reached out and touched the edge of the windowsill, smiling faintly to herself. On the other side of the plexiglass was Obi-Wan, still submerged in bacta. She could see only part of his arm through the small window - but that was alright. She didn't think she could bear to see his face the way it probably looked, floating underwater and dead to the world. 

"My lady." Sabé was there, as she always was, whenever her thoughts turned too dark. Padmé turned and wiped away more tears - what would she do without Sabé? She'd die. She'd just lay down and die, probably. "You must sleep. Please at least try."

"I couldn't," Padmé said, in a whisper. It was the most she could do. "Not by myself."

"Do you want me to lay with you?" Sabé asked gently, still holding Padmé's shoulders. She looked halfway wrecked herself, Padmé noted with concern. Had _Sabé_ slept? Who was the one gently talking to her, when something bad happened? Padmé felt tears spill over again. 

"What are the holonets saying?" she asked instead, dashing them away. She pulled out of Sabé's grip, moving back to the table that had become their makeshift workstation. 

"The same as they were an hour ago," Sabé said resignedly. "Sympathy for you and Obi-Wan. The Chancellor's popularity polls have taken a minor hit, but he gained some ground back with his statement. The Jedi haven't responded publicly, but there's a lot more positive coverage of them than there was before. But they still haven't released the clone squadrons from their temporary holdings, and several Senators have come out already, denouncing the army altogether."

"Good," Padmé said, lowering herself gingerly to the bench. "Good."

"We've done all we can, Padmé. For now." Sabé sat beside her. The medbay was quiet around them - Panaka had long been bullied into a bed, and their security was keeping all visitors - Senatorial or Jedi alike - at bay for the time being. It was just them. "He's going to live, Padmé."

"Three hours," Padmé whispered. She was thinking of Cordé again - the dumplings she used to make some nights, when they had enough time. Padmé loved those dumplings. And Cordé loved how effusive Padmé was about her dumplings. Obi-Wan once called it the greatest love story he'd ever seen: Padmé and Cordé's dumplings. 

She was still crying, somehow. They had more good news than bad, at this point: Obi-Wan would survive, they knew that now for sure. His recovery would be long and arduous, but he would live. They had gained some ground, politically - not just survived whatever fallout might have happened from their marriage being exposed, but _capitalized_ on it - used it to do some good. It wasn't a secret anymore. They could live together openly - have so much more time than before. The Jedi and the Senate could work together, perhaps - not at odds. Padmé had less to worry about tonight than she had the night before. So why was she still crying?

Sabé put her arms around her silently, pressing her cheek to Padmé's shoulder. They sat together for a moment, holding each other and listening to the soft hum of the bacta tank. What would she do without Sabé? Padmé thought about it again. How could she get through a single moment of her life?

"Did Cordé ever," Padmé said, wincing as her throat burned. She still hadn't seen a meddroid - she didn't need to. No matter how many times Sabé asked. "Did she ever tell you her birth name?"

"No," Sabé whispered. Padmé could hear that her voice was also thick with tears, though she would never dare to let them fall. 

"She told me once. Made me swear not to tell anyone - not to tell you." Padmé smiled at the memory. "She thought you'd make fun of her."

"I probably would have," Sabé said sadly. She laughed softly, muffling it a little against Padmé's arm.

Padmé thought of her sister's moon, and a balcony many years ago. "It was Leia," she said. "Leia Ahuja Nenranda. But she just went by Leia, when she first came to the palace." Padmé held Sabé a bit tighter. "Just a little girl, an orphan, only eleven years old. She couldn't wait to change her name - she wanted to leave her old life behind. So eager to be more. To help, to _change._ "

"Leia," Sabé whispered. She sniffled a little. "I wouldn't have made fun of her for that. It's a beautiful name."

"Yes, I thought so too."

"She'd be proud of us tonight, my lady."

"Yes, she would," Padmé said, her tears overwhelming her once more. She reached up with her free hand and wiped them away. "Do you miss people calling you Tsabin? I can call you that in private, if you'd like."

"It's not my name anymore," Sabé said. "We did change, my lady. We change and we don't look back, because it's not in our nature. We can only look forward, to the future. Whatever that may be."

"Yes," Padmé whispered.

"And she did change too," Sabé said. "She changed us, and the universe. Cordé Leia of Naboo." Sabé lifted her head, and graced Padmé with a beautiful, gentle smile. "She made a difference."

"Yes, she did." Padmé knew they wouldn't speak about her in the histories of this time - whatever they might look like. Padmé herself, and Obi-Wan, and even Sabé would be mentioned frequently - in good terms or bad, all dependent on who was doing the writing. The Jedi Council, in all their wisdom and blindness. The messy, corrupt, overcrowded Senate. Their prideful coalition of loyalist democrats. And Palpatine. All would be analyzed a million times over, without any insight whatsoever into what drove their hearts. What motivations were making them act as they did. 

Her marriage was one more thing for future historians to analyze, now. Padmé still wasn't sure how she felt about it, but she couldn't deny a certain sort of relief: at least now, someone else would know. Should the worst happen again, she'd be allowed to grieve for him as she grieved for Cordé. Wherever the coming months took them, at least she'd have that. 

It would be enough. More than enough, compared to before. Padmé could find her own peace about it. 

"The droids will wake us if his vitals change," Sabé mumbled. They were slumped together on the bench now, both of their eyelids drooping. "I won't sleep unless you do, my lady."

Well, if she was doing Sabé a favor, Padmé thought. "Promise me," she whispered, "promise me he'll be awake when we wake up. Promise me he'll be with us."

"I promise," Sabé said. 

And whatever Sabé said was usually true, and so against her better judgement, Padmé believed it.

**BREAKING: CHANCELLOR PALPATINE ATTACKED IN HIS CHAMBERS BY SEPARATIST SPIES. HEROIC AIDE AND BODYGUARD ANAKIN SKYWALKER FOUGHT OFF THREE ASSASSINS ACCORDING TO INSIDER REPORTS. CAN THE REPUBLIC AFFORD TO DENOUNCE THE CLONE ARMY? LIVE FEED OF THE SENATE FLOOR AVAILABLE AS SENATOR BICK-WA'A FROM THE TAPANI SECTOR ADDRESSES THE FLOOR IN THIS ONGOING DEBATE. SKIRMISHES IN THE OUTER RIM CONTINUE, AT LEAST THREE THOUSAND DEAD. EIGHTEEN HUNDRED BEINGS STILL CAPTIVE IN ONGOING HOSTAGE CRISIS ON KASHYYYK. JEDI KNIGHTS ZHURRO AND SECURA DEPLOYED TO ANISON FOR A SECONDARY ATTEMPT TO NEGOTIATE BORDER DISPUTES WITH H'FTHAR REBELS. FOOD SHORTAGES STILL ONGOING IN THE MID RIM AS TRADE ROUTES STILL INTERRUPTED BY SEPARATIST DROID SQUADRONS. LIVE FEED, AS USUAL, IS AVAILABLE.**


End file.
